Small adventures at 221B Bakerstreet
by moonbird
Summary: Just a lot of smaller random scenes between our favourite detective and doctor. Conversations, amusing small stories, annoyance and chaos. NOT slash! because I don't believe for a second these two would ever have a relationship like that. John is far to fond of women and Sherlock is far to disinterested in stuff like that.
1. Violins and dissapearing acts

At 22B Bakerstreet, early in the Saturday morning, music was flooding through the building, soft, simple played violin music. It was almost soothing.

For ones, one might ad! John didn't know whether that violin was the biggest curse on earth or a genuine blessing.

It was a curse because his flat mate could be practicing on at the most ungodly hours, and he didn't care whether it was the middle of a work night or not, Sherlock Holmes honestly seemed to have a liking of staying up all night and then doing nothing all day, unless there was a case to be had.

Worst of all, he only played the thing probably did he feel like it, which wasn't always, for some reason Sherlock had a liking of just torturing the poor instrument, letting the most horrific screams escape it, and John usually laying in bed when Sherlock did that, had long since gotten himself ear plugs and was still pressing his pillow over his ears when-ever it happened.

And still there was a light side, the light side was that as long as the violin was playing, John knew Sherlock was occupied and wouldn't destroy the apartment nor being some-where out on the street getting shot at.

But on some occasion, like now, Sherlock had chosen to actually play the fine instrument, and at a decent hour to, it was a rare moment of peace for John to share with his flat mate on a fine Saturday morning, so rare was such a situation that John had to treasure it.

He was merely sitting listening while he sipped to his tea and glanced over a news-paper, he didn't even really read, he was actually more listening, then he chuckled to himself, remembering that one of the first things Sherlock had told about himself was that he played the violin and stated potential room-mates should know the worst habits of each other before moving in. What was so amusing though was that Sherlocks violin playing was one of the _least _annoying habit out of Sherlocks impressive summary of annoying habits.

Well, it had happened ones or twice John was just about to snap the damn thing as he had gotten tired home from work and Sherlock had been busy torturing the wood in his hands making you believe a wild cat had gotten lost some-where in their apartment.

John closed his eyes, finding it wondrous anything so soothing and calm could ever spring from his flat-mate, the otherwise always so erective and annoying precise Sherlock Holmes, actually, the violin playing seemed completely out of place for him. '

And when he played, really played that is, you could almost be fooled to think he was another person, the relaxed stand, the tones.. the fact that he did some-thing creative, some-thing along the lines Sherlock would called waste of time, not related to a case.. not important. It was rather odd actually now when John thought about it, and just like that, the music stopped, Sherlock had stopped playing.

John opened his eyes, looked up and saw Sherlock putting down the violin on the floor.. aren't you supposed to put things like that in cases? Did Sherlock even have a violin case? Weren't he afraid that the delicate instrument would break?

Apparently not, and John shouldn't be surprised considering how Sherlock could treat the instrument while playing, as Sherlock just plummeted down in his own chair reaching for a cup of tea all ready standing on the table.

"So.." John cleared his throat straightened his paper. "When did you start?"

Sherlock frowned slightly, then looked oddly at John. "With what?" he asked.

"The violin?" John asked.

"My parents insisted that I should play." Sherlock shrugged.

"Ah, should have figured." John nodded.

"How so?" Sherlock asked looking actually genuinely interested in the answer.

"A person like you, wouldn't voluntarily take out the time and dedication it would take to learn an instrument, unless some-one forced you, you just wouldn't have had the patients." John stated.

"you're learning." Sherlock stated back. "Good deduction."

"Do you play more instruments?" John asked.

"Can't you deduce?" Sherlock asked folding his hands looking slightly interested.

John groaned slightly annoyed. "I never seen you playing anything else." He stated. "Or the least bit interested in other instruments. But since violin is such a classic instrument, and your parents forced you, I assume they were into that classic stuff to, I can't tell but if there is any-thing else, it would have to be a piano right?"

"Ah, so very correct." Sherlock smiled before he sighed a little annoyed. "All though, that should have been a given, a piano will always be the base instrument, to which children learn to read sheet music, or at least in families where parents make sure their children learns an instrument, which is only smart as when you first learn the notes all instruments are just a question about finding out where the note C lies."

"Really?" John asked wondering.

"Of cause they are." Sherlock stated as he rolled his eyes. "It's ridiculously logical and mathematical."

"Music is mathematical?" John asked astounded.

Sherlock raised a slight eye-brow. "How else did you believe one composed music?" he asked.

"I don't know," John blinked. "I guess I never thought much about it, Music just.. happens."

"Like all else it's a work of logic and numbers." Sherlock pointed out slightly amused. "Every-thing is quite logical, as long as you find out how. It will all make sense in the end."

"Yeah right." John rolled his eyes. "Not even you can know all about every-thing." He snorted.

Sherlock scoffed slightly, but didn't reply, knowing that would be a fight all ready lost, and if there was some-thing Sherlock didn't liked, it was to loose face.

"But you never stopped playing after your parents stopped having a say." John bemused pointed out as he continued the conversation as had nothing been happening.

"Helps me think." Sherlock stated pointedly.

"You have no case right now, there's nothing to think about." John pointed out now really bemused and curious all on the same time.

"Then I'm bored." Sherlock returned taking a sip of his tea as if John had just insulted him.

"Figures." John rolled his eyes.

there was silence for a while, John just leaned back in his chair having assumed the conversation over, which was why it surprised him as Sherlock spoke again.

"Sets my mind at ease." He said almost silently.

John opened his left eye looking at Sherlock. "What?" he asked.

"The violin." Sherlock stated in a almost impatient tone. "I told you ones before, my mind is a raging engine, it wont stop, it needs some-thing to do, give me a case and I strive. Without a case I have few ways to occupy this engine inside of my head to stop it from driving me crazy, one of the ways I found you don't approve of, and then there's the violin."

"Ah." John nodded. "Then you are right, I by far prefer the violin." He stated closing his eyes again before opening them. "Does Mycroft play?" he asked suddenly curious.

"The violin?" Sherlock asked.

"Any instrument." John replied.

"Why would you wish to know that?" Sherlock asked slightly confused.

"The thought of him having been forced to learn how to play by his parents just amuses me." John told chuckling to himself. "And just him stepping down to play a piece, yeas it amuse me, he can take being taken down a peck."

Sherlocks mouth spread in a grin as he laughed with John before he at last nodded. "Of cause he does." He told. "Piano, flute and Violin, he was always considered a wonder child."

"The flute?" John asked. "What I wouldn't give to have him play a piece for us."

"Careful John." Sherlock returned. "If Mycroft likes to blow wooden instruments, that is his own business. He might get cranky if you start asking about it." he told while there was a certain glint in his eye.

John was absolutely silent for a couple of moments as he tried to figure what Sherlock had said, then he suddenly realized and just burst out laughing. "Sherlock." He barely got out through the laughs. "That was low! To low!" all though he could barely contain his own laughter.

"Oh come now, the queen of England can afford to take a few blows." Sherlock retorted making John laugh even harder, completely giving up in even pretending to be decent. "Besides you started it." Sherlock pointed out.

John shook his head. "I didn't think that far." He stated. "God Sherlock, and people at the police station accuse you for not having any sense of humour." he amused chuckled.

"They are just not getting it." Sherlock sniffed sounding almost scorned.

John amused shook his head, while refraining to point out that it was probably because Sherlocks humour were a bit to forward and edgy to be any kind of decent, ever. In fact it was a sure way to insult people, but John wouldn't spoil a for ones lovely Saturday by pointing any-thing like that out.

* * *

It was a funny thing really, people seemed to assume that Sherlock and John were pretty much joined by the hip. They would assume that him and Sherlock was always together, that John always would now what Sherlock was doing or where the detective was.

But the truth was that John hardly _ever_ knew! Some-times the detective would occupy their shared flats for weeks without going outside for as much as a second, then would always be there as John left and when john came back, one time as John had been away for three days to visit a friend in Chelsea, he was almost ready to swear that Sherlock had not moved an inch from the spot as he came back, but then out of no-where the tall man could just be gone without leaving a saying or trace, and it could be for days, weeks even months!

And today were one of those times, John had been left alone at their shared flat for almost two and a half month, and he was honestly starting to become bored, He was even missing his friend.. even the annoying habits.

It even went so far that John felt guilty about throwing Sherlocks secret stash of cigarettes away when he found them by accident in the Persian slipper right before Sherlock vanished. As if that was the reason for Sherlocks absence.

That was ridicules of cause, Sherlock was most likely out on some kind of case he had been caught up in while John wasn't at home, had run out on a whimp and was clearly still head-deep in it.

And John would never find out what this long case was about as Sherlock never ever told any-thing that didn't have some-thing to do with the here and now.

No, John mostly knew absolutely nothing about where the detective was or what he was doing, even if other people didn't believe him, just the other day Greg had been by the flat.

"So where is Sherlock off to now?" the silver haired D,I had asked.

John had only been able to shrug as he sighed. "Don't know."

And of cause Greg had given him that look, as if he was honestly surprised. "You have no idea at all?" he asked. "Cause I could really use him right now."

"I said I don't know!" John stated annoyed. "He hasn't given as much as a life sign for two months, so I guess he is busy." He stated.

Greg did grow silent by that, and then asked carefully. "You don't think he is in trouble do you?"

John bit his lip. "It's Sherlock, of cause he is in some kind of trouble." He admitted. "But I really don't know any-thing, he as always, just vanished."

"You don't want to report him missing?" Greg asked.

"God Sherlock would hate that." John winched. "Beside this is just typically him any-way, if he is in real trouble he would find a way to make us know, and I'll be there."

"Are you sure?" Greg asked.

"Absolutely." John stated firmly. "If he needed me he would have taken me with him, but he didn't this time, and that's that."

And that was yesterday, now John was just sitting in his armchair, he had absolutely nothing to do, he was just starring out in the air feeling ridiculously lazy, "God what I wouldn't do for some-thing to happen." He mumbled mostly to himself.

And then.. almost as on cue, the front door opened, John sat up straight and looked towards the entrance where a tall detective now waltzed through, tall, lean and… sunburned?

The otherwise always ghostly white detective had gotten quite a healthy sun-burn, especially on his cheeks and neck, without a word Sherlock plummeted down in his own arm chair, threw his coat aside, threw the scarf on the floor, leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed..

And that was it..

No words of hallo, no greeting, no explanation, no nothing.

John lifted an eye-brow looking at the out of no-where returned detective, for some moment he just looked at Sherlock he sat with closed eyes leaning back in his chair, at last John cleared his throat. "Well?" he asked.

Sherlock opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times before his eyes found John, and he blinked again, as if he was extremely surprised to find John there. John couldn't help but notice how Sherlocks new tan made his eyes look more blue than usual, they looked almost unusually blue. "Well what?" Sherlock at last asked.

"Where have you been?" John asked a little impatiently.

Sherlock leaned back in his seat as he waved his hand again. "Been busy." He told as he waved at john signaling that he didn't want to talk.

"Sherlock, you've been gone pretty darn long this time, and no one knew where, I've been asked to report you missing several times." John stated.

Sherlock lifted an eye-brow. "You didn't do that did you?" he asked.

"I almost did." John stated. "A month more without a sign and I probably would have."

"Why would you do that?" Sherlock asked sounding both confused and down-right annoyed.

"Because I worry, Sherlock." John stated sounding annoyed.

"Worry?" Sherlock asked sounding insulting. "Now what good is that?" he asked in a disgusted snort.

John literately face-palmed himself by that comment. "Forget it." He stated annoyed. "But Sherlock, the next time! If you don't want me to report you missing, and then have some police force pulling you out of what-ever exciting case you are in the middle of. Just send me a bloody texts!" he stated. "Just one! Say, I wont come home for a week, of if it's longer, send another one saying I will be gone for this month."

"What do you need that kind of information for?" Sherlock ased.

"So I know you have not been abducted or some-thing crazy like that." John stated. "And I know you, so I know it's very likely."

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but then silence, his mouth kept on opening before he slowly closed it, looking puzzled at John. "I still don't see the point." He bluntly stated. "Whether you get a text or not wont change the facts."

"Sherlock, like it or not I am looking out for you." John stated as he crossed his arms. "Call it a stupid human sentiment or what-ever you like, but I am a soldier and when you are a soldier you look out for your comrades, we were all competent fighters all clever, so there was no shame in looking out for each other, exactly because what we did could be dangerous.

Call it my instinctual habit based on stupid human emotions or what-ever you want, and do it as a favor so I can set my mind at ease and I will have an honest answer when every-body whom looks for you go to me." He looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock silenced as he looked down, before he slowly spoke. "This is not the desert of Aughanistan." He pointed out quietly.

"A war zone is a war zone, and you search them out Sherlock." John pointed out.

"Having partners is not some-thing that I am used to." Sherlock frowned slightly annoyed.

"You pulled me into this." John reminded him. "And beside, do you have any idea how annoying it is that _every-body_ whom needs you goes to me all the time, and I can't give any of them a straight answer."

"Just tell them I am busy." Sherlock replied potentially making John roll his eyes.

"All-right then, here's the deal." John stated as he stood up. "If you are suddenly gone, for three weeks, and I don't hear from you, at all, I'll report, and then you will come home to a heck of a lot paper-work where you _have _to explain where you have been."

Sherlocks mouth dropped open. "I was gone over twice as long time this time around." He pointed out in a scorned voice.

"_Exactly!" _John stated with crossed arms, and as the words had lefts his mouth, he couldn't help but smile potently, check and mate, he thought to himself.

And suddenly it seemed like Sherlock had arrived at the same conclusion, which of cause annoyed him to no end as he threw up the arms in frustration and growled as he stood up. "I'll go make some tea." He suddenly announced as was that the most important thing to happen in the century. "Lord knows I need tea, the tea I last had was horrible!" he stated striding out in the kitchen his jacket flowing after him.

John blinked. "Where were you even?"

But again, as almost always, Sherlock offered no answer, not even a tiny one, just a lot of angry sounds from the kitchen, so all John knew and could deduce with his limited brain was that Sherlock had been some-where with sun and some-where that didn't make English tea. John sighed grabbing his news-paper opening it and disappearing behind it as he yelled. "I would really like some tea as well Sherlock!"

* * *

_AN; _

_and I solve the mystery for you right now where the hell Sherlock was. _

_He was in Pakistan saving Irene Addler, I mean think about it, it's cannon! it happened in the show, some-how Sherlock tracked Irene all the way to Pakistan, infiltrated the terrorists, sat himself up as the executioner at the right time, helped her escape for good. And John knew NONE of that. Maybe it didn't take two and a half month, maybe it was only one month, but both options seems equally possible to me and well, Sherlock returning from that life-threatening adventure just walking in saying. "Hey John." amuses me.  
_


	2. the dying detective

"Jooohn." Sherlock voice sounded through the flat, sounding almost pathetic. "John." the lean detective called again.

"What is it?" Johns voice finally responded out from the kitchen.

"I'm dyyyying." Sherlocks voice sounded even more pathetic than before. "Finally my enemies must have caught up to me, I'm poisoned, good-bye John." he cried out. "I'll miss our friend-ship most of all."

"You are not dying." John rolled his eyes as he appeared in the door holding a tea tray containing a pot of steaming hot tea. "You are just having a case of flu." the doctor stated in a tone that had all-ready given up on the young man whom complained so much.

Almost in responds Sherlock let out a big sneeze, before he flopped back on the couch groaning a miserable pathetic moan, he did look like shit, the detectives curls were unruly and messy, his cheeks flushed red, his nose stuffed, his eyes watery. As he laid in the couch he wore nothing but his blue dressing gown, and as he turned he reached for the blanket to pull it over his body. "No I'm most definitely dying." he stated closing his eyes shut. "Now let me rest in peace at last, and find whom-ever was responsible for my last scrutinising hours."

Ones again John was left to role his eyes as he shook his head. "You want to know what caused this?" he asked putting down the tea tray on the table in front of Sherlock. "jumping in the river and then run around the entire night without drying off did." he stated as he sat down in the chair opposed to the couch. "In October, in the rain." he stated picking up a syringe from the tea tray to look it over. "You're your own worst enemy some-times, Sherlock."

"Are you now going to poke holes in my to?" Sherlock questioned looking at the syringe. "aren't I in enough pain all-ready?" he complained.

"It's just c-vitamins." John explained in a annoyed sigh. "You lack those, your diet isn't exactly ideal and you refuse to take vitamin pills, so what am I supposed to do?" he asked grabbing Sherlocks arm in a tight grip. "Now hold still."

Sherlock turned away and winched as John stuffed in the needle and gave him the injection, perhaps a little harshly.

As John was finished Sherlock retrieved his arm and looked scorned at John as if every-thing was purely Johns fault.

John how-ever, didn't react in the slightest to Sherlocks scorned look. "Tea?" John then at last asked pouring up in the china even before Sherlock got to answer. "I'll be good for your throat." he told.

"What matters my throat when I am dying?" Sherlock muttered annoyed turning away from John now facing the wall.

John really did not feel like he had to answer that one. "I'll go out now." he informed Sherlock grabbing his own coat. "Is there any-thing you want before I go?" he asked.

Sherlock gave out a murmur instead of any straight answer.

"Some-thing you feel like eating?" John asked beneath his breath. "A specific jam? toast? Bananas?"

At that Sherlock turned around looking annoyed at John. "Why a banana?" he asked. "When have you ever seen me eating a banana?" he asked. "In fact, I think I hate bananas!"

"You never even tasted have did you?" John asked.

"I can still hate bananas." Sherlock shrugged. "It's allowed."

John shrugged. "Banana's are good." he stated. "For the throat, they are easy to swallow, are consistent of many good vitamins and oils, you know what I am going to go buy some bananas." John stated zipping his jacket. "If there is any-thing else you suddenly figure you want, text me." he stated walking towards the door. "In the meantime try and stay put and try to eat." he instructed as he walked around and Sherlock turned around again, mumbling some-thing about how he ever got to share flat with a bloody doctor of all things, and doctors were positively the one thing worse than big brothers.

* * *

It was no longer than an hour after John came home caring shopping bags filled with bananas, tea bags, milch, canned soup, Kleenex tissues and other necessities for sick people.

And John couldn't even be surprised, as the first thing he saw as he kicked the door open, was Sherlock, not lying down as he was told to, but crawling around on the floor, in bare feet's and dressing gown, digging through a whole ton of papers just spread all around the place.

"What are you doing?" John asked.

"Got to be here _some-where_!" Sherlock frustrated exclaimed as he threw a ton of papers up in the air.

"Well what-ever it is, it can probably wait." John pointed out. "You should go to bed."

"Don't want to, beds are boring." Sherlock proclaimed before he lithe up. "Aha!" he exclaimed standing up straight holding his paper. "I knew I had it some-where! So Louisa were at the station that date which means Johannes couldn't have seen it, it was indeed straw-berry jam." he proclaimed proudly.

John blinked a couple of times vividly. "All right, sure." he stated having given up all-ready. "I just go put these things away."

Sherlock yawned deeply before he sneezed into his sleeve, looking miserable as ever he grabbed a Kleenex from the table and blew into it, before curling the tissue together, throw it over his shoulder, and John was in fact thank-full that the kleenex hit the trash can precisely, cause he knew Sherlock would not pick it up if it didn't. "I'll go to bed now." Sherlock announced stomping towards the stairs in big movements.

"Good on you." John replied neglecting to point out it couldn't possible be more than a minute ago Sherlock had said that he wouldn't.

And neither did the detective say any-thing, he just very loudly stomped into his bed-room, a big great thump sounded and John was left with the mental image that Sherlock had plummeted down in his bed, face down in the pillow. And it actually weren't to soon after that that light snoring sounded from the bed room and John was at last allowed to exhale a sight of relief.

But as it often was in their little flat, nothing were allowed to be predictable for long.. it was not Sherlock, he was sound a sleep, thankfully, but it was of cause at that time it knocked on the door and in through it came none other than D.I. Lestrade closely followed by a certain sergeant Donovan.

"Not today." John stated by the very sight of them, he did not raise from the chair but only lowered the newspaper to get eye-contact with the intruders.

"This is important John." Lestrade tried to explain. "You know I don't come here unless there is a need to have him there."

John sighed deeply shaking his head. "I think you better hurry then, today is just not a good time." he stated.

"He's not gone again is he?" Lestrade asked in a slight frown.

John shook his head.

"No, I'm actually bored at the moment." A usually deep, but today very horse baritone sounded, it was Sherlock had gotten out of his room, but was still just in his dressing gown, and ones again he sneezed quite heavily.

"Sherlock." John shook his head. "I thought you wanted to sleep." he stated.

"Well I am awake now." Sherlock retorted.

Donovan smiled obviously amused. "Sorry to see you less than fit." she greeted. "Perhaps he really should set this one out sir." she addressed Lestrade. "We wouldn't have him get worse would we? or faint on the scene."

In return Sherlock send her a mocking scorned grimace, he could might as well have pointed a tounge at her, which just went to amuse Donovan that more. "Give me ten minutes to get dressed." Sherlock then at last stated as he turned around.

And John groaned covering his face with his hands.

"So I suppose you'll be coming to?" Lestrade asked John.

"What do you think?" John asked in a tired voice raising from his arm chair grabbing his coat. "It better not start raining!"

* * *

At the end of the day, it was another case solved for the great detective and he was beaming, it was almost like solving the case had been the miracle cure he had needed and he was completely well again as he strode into the apartment. "That sure showed that Donovan." he smiled gleefully. "Childs-play!" he triumphed as he plummeted down in his chair.

John how-ever, was far behind him, only very slowly did the doctor get up stairs.. ever so slowly, and finally as he reached the door he let out a big sneeze and then a cough, finally as he got into the living room he aimed straight for the Kleenex box on the table and blew his nose, which proved he needed that, weakly he managed to dump the tissue down in the trash can and send a tired look at Sherlock. "I hate you." he stated. "I hate you so much."

And all John got in return was a childish innocent smile, as if Sherlock had no idea what John could possible be talking about.


	3. The eccentric

"Sherlock, I thought we were clear on this." For ones it wasn't John, and neither was it Mycroft, not even Mrs. Hudson whom spoke those words, no, it was a certain specific silver haired D.I. whom stood in the middle of the apartment of 221B Bakerstreet, having gone directly to there from the police station as he knew very well Sherlock would not respond to such things as a call or a text, certainly he wouldn't even consider them. "I invite you to a crime scene when I judge that you _may_ be _needed, _and that in on itself is very risky for me, I am putting myself on to line for you. But you can't just waltz in on a crime-scene without permission!" Lestrade stated in a annoyed tone. "And certainly not mess around with evidence."

Sherlock hadn't even bothered getting up from his chair as he merely shrugged. "It was my case first, it involved my client who had come to me with this case a week ago, and she has been my focus in all of that time."

Lestrade exhaled annoyed. "the rules concerning private detectives also covers you Sherlock, if you want to work as a private detective _fine_, good on you. But as a case evolves further, as this did, you stay out until, and if, invited." the D.I. tried to explain for time number hundred at least. "It might was your case, when the women thought her family was being watched, but as it turned into murder, it turned into a completely different case, there are procedures, you know that!"

"Procedures." Sherlock echoed in a positively bored tone. "I caught the criminal didn't I?" he asked. "In fact, two hours after you asked me to leave the scene."

"You were messing around with the evidence." Lestrade pointed out.

"But you have your murderer" Sherlock returned in a satisfied smirk.

"Sherlock, that is not the point!" Lestrade exclaimed, but there was nothing he could say or do to wipe that smile of Sherlocks face, nothing at all. "Oy." he shook his head. "John, try and tell him?" he asked.

"I all-ready did." John replied from where he stood behind his own chair. "But it's hard to argue against the fact that the murderer is caught, and we don't know if you had gotten him that quick without Sherlock." a comment that only made Sherlocks smirk widen, also John seemed to realise what he had just said and groaned. "And you stuff it Sherlock." he demanded.

Sherlock merely shrugged amused, as if he had no idea at all what John was talking about.

"Just like the old days isn't it?" Lestrade asked in a deep sigh.

"The old days?" John asked.

Lestrade waved at him in a defeated shrug. "Before Sherlock here was settled probably in, he used to just storm the crime scenes completely uninvited." he told in a deep exhausted sigh. "He was impossible to get rid off, no one had any idea what to do with him and it all turned into quit the circus each time." he stated beneath his murmuring breath.

"It was the most fun I ever had." Sherlock returned in a almost sadistic smile.

John rolled his eyes, before he returned to Lestrade. "Would you like some tea or some-thing before you go?" he then asked politely.

"No, I promised the wife to come home early as possible." Lestrade told as he zipped his jacket. "So I can take care of the kids while she's out with some girl-friends." he told as he headed for the door.

"Have fun." John greeted in a cheer.

"She's not going out with any-girl friend, she's going to cheat with that fitness guy again." Sherlock told in a lazed tone, and yet his voice carried all the way out to Lestrade whom was half-way out the door.

Annoyed and humiliated by such a comment Lestrade slammed the door and was happy it made such a loud sound. "Jesus Sherlock!" he hissed to himself as he waved his fingers as he now realised had been hurt as he slammed the door, and then he kicked the wall beside himself only to have that hurt his toe as well. "Christ Sherlock!" he then gritted. Lestrade was usually not a tempered man, in fact he was infamously known for not having a temper and being unbelievable patient, even humourers at the most strainous of situations.. which would be every-time any-one had any-thing to do with Sherlock Holmes, that man just had a way to bring the worst out in every-body, even in Lestrade from time to time.

As Lestrade descented the stairs he got a glance at the window, and then let out an mourn, it was raining outside! oh the great joy of life! annoyed Lestrade opened the door and realised it was a quite heavy rain, that kind of rain that would soak a good coat through and through in ten minutes, and Lestrades coat wasn't even that good. It was the same kind of rain that had rained the day Lestrade had first met Sherlock, oh that day of destiny, that day of... blessing or curse? probably both! But there was no way, no way at all Lestrade could ever forget it.

* * *

A bitter October wind swept through Soho in central London, and made the heavy stingy rain even worse for the all-ready tired sergeant Gregory Lestrade.

He was out with his team investigating a series of recent murders in the area, it was most probably a serial killer, his D.I, McGee had obviously started to tire, she had begun to become a little elderly, and it was only a matter of time before she would either resign or be promoted to a more suiting desk job for a woman her age. She had been a good, clever patient D.I. for many years and respected in many circles, Lestrade only hoped he could life up to her, as every-one very much all-ready knew it was him was going to take over her place ones she found some-thing else.

It was quite a mess as the corpse had been found in the middle of the street, there was now yellow lock-out wrapped all around the place, thanks to the bad weather though, the crowd this had attracted wasn't to big, now the team just tried to be done as quick as possible, hoping they could get the corpse out of the way before some kind of news reporter showed up with camera and all that followed.

"What do you make of it?" McGee asked Anderson whom was now pulling off his rubber gloves after having finished examining the corpse. "Dead for one and a half hour, the broken neck is clearly what killed her, we can assume it was an attack as there are several brushes all-over the body looking like some-thing a fight would produce." he stated.

Lestrade frowned. "It doesn't match up with the other killings he stated."

"It was probably the same, who else could it have been?" Anderson asked. "Just slashes down the victim and leaves."

"How come no one have noticed then?"

Every-body jolted, the voice was completely and utterly unfamiliar, none of them had ever heard it before, frantically Lestrade were searching for whom-ever had said it, and finally he discovered a young man bend over the corpse.

"Wouldn't some-one have noticed?" the young man asked. "This is central London, people walk by all the time! some-one getting slashed down would have been seen." then the young man looked at Anderson. "And you said death for one and a half hour? Wouldn't some-one have noticed a corpse being lying there for all of that time?" he asked. Lestrade blinked, that young man, he looked... very very odd, he would have to be, mid twenties or some-thing like that, he was tall, slender and very thin, his hair was unruly and curled in black locks, framing themselves around his pale distinctive face, his eyes almost looked like they gloved ice-blue. He was wearing a shirt, but it was to big for him and looked unclean, his jacket was heavy, and looked both used and messy, he looked unclean and very dirty, actually he all-around just looked a mess, and yet there were a weird posh style about him.. almost like a gentleman, at ones Lestrade just knew he would never see that man in a hoodie, but then again, that he was a gentleman would be impossible from the messed up state he was in and looked okay with, and the way he casually took a cigarette from his back pocket to stuff it in his mouth in the most nonchalant way possible.

McGee blinked for some time shocked, until she at last found her stern footing. "As much as your in-put is appreciated, I must ask you to step behind the lock out." She pointed at the very clear line that had been marked "Please _sir._" she asked in a tone that didn't really tolerate objections.

The young man how-ever seemed completely oblivious to this tone. "Wouldn't it make more sense if the killer killed him some-where else, and then dropped the body for you to find to, perhaps to confuse you?" he asked as he blew out a large cloud of smoke. "And couldn't the dragging of the corpse having left the brushes?" he asked in a... honesty very curious even enthusiastic voice.

"that is for the professionals to decide." McGee snapped of him. "Now, you must leave or I will place you under arrest." she stated, and it was indeed a clear statement.

The young man shrugged all though the disappointment was clear on his pouty face, as he stomped out and almost angrily threw his exaggerate on the ground to stamp on it, very much resembling a child whom had been denied a specific toy he had sat his eyes on.

Lestrade tried to ignore the young man for the duration of their investigation, but it could not be denied how irksome it was that every-one else would so quickly seek shelter from the rain, and that man would just stand there, long since having been soaked to the bone by the rain, and still he didn't move an inch, he would just stand there and stare at them.

For Lestrade, they simply could not be done quick enough, finally as all that could be done had been done, Lestrade almost ran for a car, so busy was he getting inside where it was warm and dry that he didn't notice how close he had gotten to the young strange man, not before the man stopped him by grabbing his arm and whispering. "That man is an idiot and I am right." the man spoke to Lestrade. "And you know it."

Lestrade yanked his arm away from the young man and looked him into the eyes, try to gain some control of the situation. "Perhaps, but even so, let us handle it." he told the young man. "We are professionals, what you would you know of crime-investigation?" he asked.

"Not a single thing." the young man admitted. "But I could learn." he stated in a smirk.

"Then go and learn, until then, let us handle it." Lestrade demanded and turned around to indicate the conversation was over.

"I'm sorry you didn't managed to meet up for your wedding anniversary with your wife." the young man shouted after him. "Being pregnant tend to make women cranky, so it wont be pleasant for you in the morning." he stated in a devilish smirk.

Lestrade scowled as he crawled into his car and slammed the door, first as he was inside did his eyes widen and he exclaimed. "How the hell did that man know it was my wedding anniversary, that missed it, _and _that my wife is pregnant?" he asked out loud, so shocked about the revelation he didn't even thought about it. He tried to look out and get a glimpse of the man, it wasn't hard, he was looking at the crime-scene. Lestrade scowled and decided just to start the car, London was full of all sorts of weirdos, better just get out while he still could!

* * *

As it happened though, Lestrade didn't really manage to sleep that night, he kept tossing and turning.. that young mans word, they kept nagging him! those very very simple deductions, they could be so essential! McGee had been cold and tired, and she wasn't young any-more and Anderson... Anderson was a professional! Lestrade refused to see him as any-thing less, simply refused. But still.

And that was how Lestrade ended up getting up an hour early, so he could drive to the crime-scene ones more and have a look for himself. This morning was gray and bitter, no-thing else to say about it, and so Lestrade got out of his car and hurried towards the crime scene, only to halt as soon as he stood there, because right there, right beside where the corpse had been some ten hours ago, was that young man again, still wearing the same shirt and trousers, smoking another cigarette and he seemed like he was wet to.

"Have you been here all night?" Lestrade called out.

The young man twirled around. "Ah." he greeted. "The sergeant, how are you?" he asked almost pleasantly.

"Confused." Lestrade responded. "Now tell me, have you been here all night?" he asked.

"Of cause." the young man smirked. "Why didn't any-one ever tell me crime scenes could be so much fun?" he asked.

"What?" Lestrade exclaimed.

"I completely forgot myself, it was actually that fun." The young man grinned.

Lestrade gaped. "Some-one died!" he exclaimed.

The young man shrugged. "Who cares, all of my life I've been so bored every single second of every single day, but this." he grinned. "I just had to find out, _how _did the murder manage to dumb the body here, _how_?" he asked. "What possibility are there? a body of that seize and weight? I found four options but had to rule out three." he stated as he first hold up four fingers and then laid down two of them in demonstration. "It was dumped out of a car, and deliberately placed there for you to find, to confuse you." the young man stated in a grin. "So all in all, you shouldn't focus on this murder at all, but go back concentrate on the others."

"How do you know there are others?" Lestrade asked.

"To go as far as murder to keep you off track probably means it's a murder he tries to keep you off track from." the young man grinned. "This man is smart, why would he make a bigger crime to avert the consequences from a smaller crime?" he asked. "What was the Imo of the other crimes?" he asked as if he was merely mildly curious.

Lestrade how-ever, was actually smarter than that, and didn't give in. "It's confidential." he stated. "If you want in on that kind of stuff, become an officer." then his tone shifted to some-thing more pleasant. "I'm sure they would like a bright man as you on the force."

The younger man how-ever, wrinkled his nose by the mere notion. "Sounds boring!" he stated. "In fact, all your protocols sounds boring!"

"Now you listen to me, those protocols are there for a reason." Lestrade stated. "And if you don't behave, you'll be in real trouble."

"Trouble sounds interesting." the young man stated. "Nothingness is just dull."

Lestrade looked at the man, starting to feel slightly worried, he sounded like a person willing to do any-thing to keep himself entertained, what kind of strange man was he? he sounded like some-one likely to go out commit crimes just for the fun of it, to diverse himself. "Just." Lestrade exhaled. "Stay out of the business you have nothing to do with."

It was how-ever, no more than three days from that, that Lestrade received an mysterious envelop in his post-box, and envelop, containing all of the answers to their murder mystery. Lestrade went to check it out, and was in no time rewarded for having supposedly solved the case.

It didn't take long, only one other murder case before the young man shoved up again. this time more brash and bold though, trying to meddle with all of his might. "Get out, or I arrest you!" McGee had snapped, and this time the man looked like he was about to object.  
It was Lestrade how-ever whom interfered, by taking the young man by the arm, not very harshly, but just an indicator, and pulled him aside.

"Let me go!" the young man hissed.

"In a moment." Lestrade returned and finally let him go as they were a good way away from the rest. "So." Lestrade crossed his arms. "That envelop I received?"

The young man rose his eye-brow. "What envelop?" he asked.

"Oh come on!" Lestrade stated. "The envelop that solved our case, we both know you wrote it and some-how found out where I lived so I could get it."

"Oh that envelop." The young man remarked. "Yes I seem to re-call that."

"What was the point of that?" Lestrade asked.

"You solved your case, didn't you?" the young man asked.

"Yes but." Lestrade shook his head. "What do you want?" he asked. "What is it you want to proof?" he asked.

"Why would I want to proof any-thing?" the young man asked. "I was just enjoying myself, and it would be a shame not to tie up the loose ends wouldn't you say?"

"You?" Lestrade stated, the rubbed his eyes. "It wont help to ask you to stop, will it?" he asked.

The young man shrugged. "You could try." he suggested.

"I all-ready did." Lestrade reminded the young man. "All-right then, I guess I really am stuck on you, at least until you loose interest." and secretly Lestrade hoped that was what was going to happen. "But can I at least ask you to work through me?" he asked. "McGee will arrest you, so try and keep out of sight mr..?" he asked.

"Sherlock Holmes." the young man presented himself. "But I wont make any promises."

* * *

That of cause, had only been the beginning, and the mess had barely begun, Lestrade remembered the time they had kept back a young addict clearly high on cocaine, only to find out it were in fact, every-ones favourite eccentric, Sherlock. Then there was the time he had stumbled over Sherlocks body on the street, to figure that the young man had been sleeping on the street, only to be invited to the young mans apartment moments after. Apparently he had chosen to sleep on the street that particular night, presumably to investigate, but Lestrade could not tell if Sherlock had been serious or not when stating he was used to sleep on the street, meaning.. he had been home-less ones? He had stated that jobs were boring, which didn't really surprise Lestrade. Lestrade had witnessed several flat mates trying to life with Sherlock and most of them fleeing within a day, the rest within a week. First as he had become D.I. himself had Lestrade the power to decide that he wanted to cooperate with Sherlock rather than fighting him, which is exactly what would have happened did they not work together. As Lestrade didn't believe in wasting energy like that when he could get problems fixed instead, it was an easy decision. And now, here he stood, seven or so years later, Sherlock had actually clearly become older, first getting clean (though using cases as an substitute probably helped with that one.) then moving in on 221B Bakerstreet and now finally, John Watson had happened.

That had been fun, the first time the doctor had showed up with Sherlock on a crime scene, every-one saying, we'll he'll be gone to in a day, but then he lasted the full week, they started betting upon when John had his fill and would leave the scene, but eventually it had been so long that even the most obnoxious officer had acknowledged it was probably permanent, and because of Johns influence, Sherlock had become a nicer person... sort of.. on a good day.

Well one thing was sure, life were way more interesting with Sherlock Holmes in the picture.

* * *

_AN; you know.. I kind of want to write a couple of stories of the early Sherlock years now, you know, prior John Watson, I am just debating whether I should make it its own story or wove it into this story. what do you think?_

_And well, I do like to explore how characters change, seven years prior to the show, before Sherlock found out cases was the thing to keep him going, he must have been a mess! just think about it for a second, Lestrade was not always a D.I. you'll get promoted to that eventually, you have to work up through ranks and well. None of us are the same as we were a year ago, with the speed Sherlock moves when he figures what he wants, I bet he has been around a lot of weird places in his life. _


	4. Don't let me

Now in Johns life, it was honestly hard for him to as much as imagine such a time where he didn't even know of the existence of a Sherlock Holmes.

Where the idea of a man secretly being the British government was ludicrous to him.

Where you did not go out to solve crimes just for the fun of it.

Without knowing of a Mrs. Hudson or a Lestrade or a Molly Hooper.

A time with no thought of BB21 Bakerstreet, at most it would be an address back then, with its messy kitchen that had been mutated into a laboratory for Sherlocks experiments, the living room with the gun holes in the wall and signs of life every-where, the coffee table filled with stains, marks of knifes and so on, the carpet bulking and miss-coloured many places, the violin case, John never had seen being used, casually thrown to a corner, the letters stuck to the mantel piece with an army knife.

It was hard to believe, two years ago John couldn't even dream or imaging this life, now he couldn't think, dream or imagine any-thing without having this in it, and thank god, it was a blessed distraction. Every-thing were, because before this time, now when what John saw when he closed his eyes were images of this life or just darkness because of his exhaustion. Before then, he would see gun shots, dry desert landscapes, explosions, hear them tear through his skull and ring in his ears long after he'd awoken. He'll see his bloodied hands, all that blood cover him all the way up to the alboves, as he hastily, in a improvised tent out in the middle of a battle-zone, tried to safe lives, remove grenade splinters from a twenty-year old mans back, that young man would probably ending up with life permanent damages. At the time John wouldn't think about that, he would be in a bobble, only the task before him mattering, cold and clinical, but in his dreams, the feelings caught up to him.

It was very very rare John had such dreams now, but as he tired sat in his arm chair at BB21 Bakerstreet, Sherlock having gotten to who knows where, suddenly John heard the battle cries in his ear ones again, deep inside he knew they would never truly go away. John shook his head 'it's over, you are not there!' he tried to tell himself, but suddenly, it became more and more vivid, playing in the back-ground of Johns mind, John closed his eyes, trying to mane the images away, at last he opened his eyes again, but he was no longer in his arm chair.. what arm chair? he had never had an arm chair like that, he had never had a apartment like that! what fantasy world had he just gone to?

He was in the middle of the Afghanistan dessert, and he had a mission to do, with his medical bag over his shoulder John together with a delegation of ten soldiers moved across a field, trying not to be seen behind the large plants, they all knew that terrorists were likely to hide around at these parts, and the soldiers were walking with hunched backs, almost crawling.

"Makes you feel like some kind of ape doesn't it?" Bob Pryce grinned.

"No, an ape would be much prettier than you." David Brussel replied, to the wished effect of making every-one snicker.

John wiped his brown and shortly took of his helmet, it often felt so heavy and warm to wear. "We are pretty close to camp aren't we?" he asked the sergeant beside him and leader of the delegation.

"If we didn't take a wrong turn Doc." Sergeant Penderson responded as he too wiped his brow. "Should be there before night-fall, and there should be a whole new cabinet of medical supplies for you to play around with."

"Gee, so if I'm lucky there's even real bandages?" John asked with a raised eyebrow. "You're spoiling me." he stated in a sarcastic tone.

Penderson smiled amused as he called out. "All-right men, take five minutes and get some water!"

There sounded a great sigh of relief as all of the men plummeted down and several bottles were opened as people drank the water.

John himself almost emptied his bottle, the water they drank wasn't exactly cooling, it had the same temperature as the hot air around them, but it was welcome none-the less.

But that was when they all froze, by the sound of a gun shot, and then another one.

"Some-body is under attack!" Sergeant Penderson exclaimed. "Pack up quick, and get moving! _go go go!" _

At ones all the soldiers were on their feet, and in unity they hurried towards the gun fire, John had no idea of the time it took, minutes? hours? all that mattered was setting one foot in front of the other without falling down, he didn't feel fear, he was in his cold stealthy profesional mind-set, but suddenly they had a clear view point of the camp they were headed for, and it was under attack, people were every-where firing at the soldiers, many of whom just tried to seek shelter as they had been caught un-garded.

John didn't hesitate to pull his gun having it ready in hand, the other soldiers also pulled their riffles now awaiting orders.

"Get a steady view." Penderson demanded of the riffle holders gesturing at the camp in front of them. "If you don't have a clear shot and could end up shooting one of our own, don't shoot at all." he instructed in a calm voice as he took aim with his own riffle. "GO!" he himself pulled a trigger, and not far from them, one of the terrorists fell to the grown, and soon several shots followed, John himself aimed with his gun and shoot, there was no way to know if he hit any-one or if it was the riffles getting the targets he had intended. But all of a sudden, his concentration was interrupted as a bang sounded so close to them, he didn't even get to realise what it was before Pendersons voice cut through every-thing else.

"Our location has been compromised! RUN!"

and within a moment, John and the soldiers were on the run, only for John to veaguly realise they were now in the middle of a battle-zone, he could not comprehend any-thing else but the here and now, and just tried to stick with his delegation, but explosions were sounding from both right and left, gun shots flew over his head. Suddenly Pryce took himself to the chest and fell to the grown, screaming in pain, very quickly another soldier got Pryce's arm around his shoulder and dragged the wounded soldier with him.

Johns Adrenalin was running high, all those explosion, he could not make sense about which came from behind him and which came from in front of him, all he knew was that he had to keep on moving, out of the corner of his eye John saw even more people fall, right behind him he could feel the force of a hand grenade, and the yells of several people having been thrown up in the air by it, and suddenly, without any warning or protection, John felt himself being flung through the air. An incredible force had hit him, stronger than any-thing he had ever tried, so strong that it hurt his entire body, and send him head first into the ground, then a souring pain made itself apparent in John shoulder and he screamed in agony. There was only four things John knew at that moment, bullets and explosions were still flying right above him, he was in pain, he could not move and lastly, no one was ready to help him, he was alone among all the cries and shots, they hadn't even discovered that he was fallen, to busy to get to safety themselves. Never before, never in his life had John felt so terrified, the pain was unbelievable intense, and almost blinded him, was this it? so sudden and out of no-where? was this how it would all end? Why would it have to be so very painful? why couldn't he move? Suddenly every-thing started to turn white before his eyes and John let out a cry. "God!" he sobbed. "Please god! don't let me die!"

"ARGH!" John opened his eyes wide, painting and sweating, steadily he tried to get his panting down on a comprehensible level and swiped his brow, he was not at the battle-fields of Afghanistan, he had fallen a sleep in his chair. John looked around and noticed the living room was completely dark and silent, the sky outside was dark.. it was the middle of the night, ergo he had been sleeping for quite a while. John shook his head trying to shake of the violent images, he looked down on the coffee table in front of him and frowned lightly, on the coffee table, there was a tea-pot, which most certainly had not been there before, steaming with hot tea, beside the tea-pot was an empty tea-cup, and beside that a little bread and Johns favourite jam. John crooked an eye-brow and looked up, to discover there was a figure standing by the window holding his own tea cup, Sherlock had his back to John though and didn't say a word, as he just stood there in the dark like some kind of ghost. Then Johns eyes flickered back at the tea-cup and bread. "You do realise eating before bed is what people often tell you is the very cause of nightmares?" John asked.

Sherlock shrugged. "I just assumed you would not want to sleep more tonight, judging from your rapid breathing and uncontrollable murmurs."

John gritted his teethe, but then relaxed, if there was one thing good about Sherlock's lack of empathy or regular human interaction, it was that he was very unlikely to now ask John what he had been dreaming about, the detective first of wouldn't care and would want to avoid such a conversation like the pest, and then he probably all-ready knew what John had dreamt, any idiot would know.. of cause he did, there was no hiding around with Sherlock. No pretences, no tap dancing around the subject, any attempt would be doomed to fail and at most make the detective annoyed as he hated staling, no nothing, just cold acceptance of facts, it was, strangely comforting.

John exhaled as he fell back in his arm chair, and then finally also poured himself some tea.

"You missed out on the case." Sherlock murmured.

"You forgot to invite me." John returned.

"Ah." Sherlock nodded and finally turned around. "Well then, be ready at noon tomorrow, that will be the time one of Lestrade's cases cracks wide open."

"Oh?" John lifted an eye-brow. "And you know that how?"

In responds Sherlock merely smirked. "Wait and see." he told.

Making John crook an eye-brow, all thoughts about dreams or old memories forgotten, instead he was caught in a deep puzzle about what Sherlock could possible have in store, what mad adventures would he be a part of now, it was almost to unnerving!


	5. The angel of 221B

"Ahhh Mrs. Hudson! isn't it a wondrous day to be alive!" A very cheerful detective greeted their land-lady with a warm smile and a certain glint in his eyes.

Amused John witnessed the detective picking up the elderly lady for a light hug to carefully put her down again, as if to take extra care not to harm her.

"Sherlock dear, remember the pasties I made, if they don't get eaten they'll spoil." the older lady told the younger man.

"Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock smiled, and then easily bowed down to kiss her on the forehead. "You are an angel."

John smiled to himself as he shifted a page in his news-paper, people often accused Sherlock of being a cold manipulative git, and on most occasions they would be right, but for some reason, when it came to Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock could so easily transform into the kindest giddiest school-boy trying to please his favourite aunt, of cause he could also transform back again within a moments notice, but moments like this and the knowledge that they weren't that rare gave John hope for the self-proclaimed socio-path whom at this moment was happily chewing on a home-made pasty snatched from Mrs. Hudsons fridge.

There was a certain light in Sherlocks eyes as he chewed and so very casually threw an arm around Mrs. Hudsons shoulder, it was hard not to like the detective when he was like that.

Mrs. Hudson did not remember precisely when, where or how she first met Sherlock Holmes. Suddenly he was just there all of a sudden, what she remembered was just a very thin young gentleman whom looked like he hadn't gotten a prober meal for who knows how long. She remembered him always being so polite, quietly knocking on her window frame asking to come in, and as Mrs. Hudson whom had so often felt so alone in her situation, for her at that time, a little company was only to welcomed, she was only far to happy to feed the young man in return for just a little company.

The thing was, she had been in trouble herself back then, in so much trouble, because of her husband, and there was no-one she could go to, she had been so alone.  
In what was possible just a few months, Sherlocks inconsistent visits had become the highlight of her days, for she did not dare go outside, she didn't even dare speak to other people, and it felt like it all just became worse and worse. until one day at last, as the young man was on one of his surprise visits, having a pot of soup Mrs. Hudson broke together.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock asked immediately getting up from his chair, only to drop down on his knees in front of Mrs. Hudson.

"Nothing." Mrs. Hudson tried to assure the young man as she wiped away her tears. "Is nothing dear, just eat your soup." she told him in what she hoped was an assuring smile.

But Sherlock did not budge from where he sat on his knee, worried he looked up at Mrs. Hudson. "It's your husband isn't it?" he asked.

"What?" shocked Mrs. Hudson looked up, her lips dry, her eyes wide as her heart had found itself up in her throat. "No dear, why... why would you ever.. think that?" she asked in a broken voice as she bit her lip.

"Mrs. Hudson please." Sherlock sighed deeply, and almost ashamed looked down as a slight blush crawled up his cheeks. "I'm afraid I haven't been all honest with you." he then admitted his cheeks turning even redder by the second. "You see." he looked up at her and then bit her lips. "I solve crimes!" he blurted.

"You're... police?" Mrs. Hudson asked confused.

"Not exactly." Sherlock hesitated. "More like a... free-lance detective, but the matter of fact is that I knew of your husbands business even before I came here, I came to erh.. erh." ashamed Sherlock looked down. "to collect clues." he admitted.

"All of this time?" Mrs. Hudson asked suddenly feeling betrayed. "All my life is bound to revolve about _him _isn't it?" she asked bitterly. "I don't even know if I have my own life any-more." she stated in a angry tone.

"Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock licked his lips and then looked up at her gently placing a hand on hers. "It's been a long time since I had any-more clues to collect here at all." he told silently. "Now I'm just worried about you, tell me, what is happening?" he asked.

"Oh Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson cried. "If I told, they would come after you, they would kill you, and then they would kill me for saying any-thing." she swallowed.

"Kill you?" Sherlock asked, suddenly his voice taking on a certain tone of danger. "They can't." he hissed in a down-right angry tone. "What kind of monsters would do that to some-one like you?" he asked in a tone growing darker by the second.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "They almost all-ready did, Sherlock I am so scared. If they knew you were here, what would happen?" she asked. "I shouldn't have kept on letting you in, I shouldn't!" she cried. "I just wanted some-one to be here, I'm so sorry!" she cried.

"Don't think about it, you've been so very kind to me." Sherlock assured Mrs. Hudson. "It was me whom wanted to know what happened here." Gently Sherlocks hand lifted to her cheek, and then lifted her hair to reveal a brushed neck. "He did this to you didn't he?" Sherlock asked in a angry tone.

Mrs. Hudson looked away closing her eyes not answering, but that was answer enough.

"Mrs. Hudson please listen to me." Sherlock asked in a stern tone holding both her hands in a firm but gentle grip. "You have to help me, tell me what you know so I can end this." he asked of her holding both her hands. "For good, so you can get your own life back!"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "I don't know." she whispered. "I don't think you realise what kind of deep trouble this is."

"Please." Sherlock then at last asked. "I'll find out myself, so it'll be safer for me if you just told me." he stated. "I'm not the type to just walk away from any-thing. I will find a way." he told. "That's how I work."

Mrs. Hudson looked up, and then met the young mans eyes, the grey-blue eyes looked at her with so much sincerity and genuine worry.

"All right." Mrs. Hudson at last breathed. "God, I hope this is the right thing to do."

The next month had been hectic and complicated, far to extensive to try and explain shortly, but suddenly, Mr. Hudson was behind bars, at death-rope in the US.

"I can't believe it." Mrs. Hudson breathed as she sat in her own living room. "He's gone, he's really gone."

Sherlock how-ever was silent as he stood with the back to her looking out of the window. "Mrs. Hudson." he spoke quietly. "Can I ask you to lay low, just for a week.?" he breathed.

Mrs. Hudson looked up. "What for?" she asked.

"Things like this.. they are never over before they are over." Sherlock stated cryptically. "I'll be leaving in an hour." he announced.

"But Sherlock dear, to where?" Mrs. Hudson asked confused.

"The US." Sherlock told. "I'm going to pay Mr. Hudson a visit, then it'll be over." he promised.

Mrs. Hudson looked up. "You mean?" she asked but then nodded. "Do what you must." she told. then she looked around. "It's going to be bizarre leaving this place." she breathed.

"Leaving?" Sherlock twirled around looking almost shocked at Mrs. Hudson. "You're leaving?" he asked sounding both surprised and upset. "why? where would you be going, you need to stay here in London!" he exclaimed almost sounding like a child.

"Sherlock dear, how on earth would I be able to afford this place by myself?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "My husband used to use the rooms upstairs for his own things, guests and such's, but I don't even have any use of them." she told. "And without his income, how can I afford this at all?" she asked.

"You could rent them out." Sherlock suggested at ones.

"to whom?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "The rooms are hardly in any good condition, they have been need of a renovation for years. I sure neither can do it myself or afford it, and then the price would be far to high for such old rooms, no one would rent them." she tried to reason with the young man.

"I would!" Sherlock shoot in.

"But dear Sherlock, how would you afford it?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she blinked.

"I could find a flat-mate, there are two bed rooms, and if we were two sharing the rent, it would become cheap considering the location." Sherlock stated at ones in a eager voice.

Mrs. Hudson blinked and then looked at Sherlock. "Are you.. are you seriously saying you want to move into those old rooms?" she asked in a astounded voice.

"Actually, I've been thinking about getting an real apartment lately." Sherlock told. "If I'm going to be a detective I need rooms, shelters wont do the trick any-more." he told honestly. "My clients wont believe I am the real thing."

Hudson blinked rapidly, and then slowly, a smile spread on her face. "Sherlock that would be wonderful but." she silenced as her smile faded. "Do you have the money to pay in advance?" she asked. "I would be glad to lend you but, I don't even have the money myself." she told in a sad tone.

Sherlock bit together as he grunted annoyed. "Oh for the love of, just this ones Mrs. Hudson, this single ones, I'll do this for you." he stated in a sour tone.

"Do what?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

Sherlock silenced her with his hand as he drew a cell-phone from his coat pocket and punched in a number, a few seconds went past until at last Sherlock spoke in the phone in a obviously fake tone. "Oh brother dear. been a long time hasn't it?"

The week Mrs. Hudson laid low she had been given money from Sherlock to life in a hotel where no one would find her. How Sherlock so inexplicitly had gotten that much cash Mrs. Hudson decided not the question, but just enjoyed her first week for a long time where she didn't have to life in fear, she was just leaning back in a arm chair, holding a cup of tea as it softly knocked on the door, Mrs. Hudson sat up straight, suddenly her every muscle becoming very tense as she hesitantly called. "Come in."

Slowly the door opened and in came, a gentleman Mrs. Hudson had never seen in her life, his clothing were posh and obviously very expensive, his stature and posture shouting with authority, his ginger hair was neatly cammed and his face fierce, he had a healthy waste-line but his eyes would make you forget any such notion very quickly, despite the sky being clear blue outside he was holding an umbrella, almost using it as a cane. there was some-thing very familiar about those sharp grey eyes that looked like they pierced through every-thing, and then again, nothing familiar at all.

"I'm sorry to interrupt." the man bowed his head politely. "My name is Mycroft Holmes, you are familiar with my little brother Sherlock, I should imagine."

Mrs. Hudson blinked, now he said it, she could definitely see it, his eyes looked so much like Sherlocks, just as intelligent, just as piercing, how-ever, the warmth she had come to expect from Sherlock was completely lacking in Mycrofts eyes and she could tell at ones the brothers were much a like and yet nothing alike at all.

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Yes." she told. "He.. he is going to rent the apartment I own." she told deciding to keep any other details out.

Mycroft nodded. "I was lead to believe that." he stated in a slight smile. "Do you mind?" he asked gesturing at the chair in front of him.

"Oh of cause, have a seat." Mrs. Hudson offered.

Mycroft nodded and set down, leaning his hands on his umbrella. "I bet Sherlock neglected to tell you, but until he finished the last piece of business regarding your husband, I promised to put surveillance you."

Astounded Mrs. Hudson blinked.

"That is not what I came to talk to you about how-ever, just thought you might would want to know." Mycroft then told.

"Then what is it you want to talk to me about Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson asked confused.

"Sherlock..." Mycroft said and the word lingered for a little while in the air. "I cannot tell how relieved I am Mrs. Hudson, all the shelters, his small camps on the streets, finally he decided to get an apartment. It may not be the best place in the world, but I shan't complain, it is a relief!" he stated.

"Mycroft Holmes, as his brother, couldn't you have offered him shelter?" Mrs. Hudson asked in a slightly scolding tone, the man certainly looked rich enough for such a gesture.

"Believe me I tried." Mycroft told. "Sherlock doesn't really like taking... charities.. from me." he stated. "And that's the problem, Sherlocks lifestyle. Lets just say it's a bit to much to hope he'll get any substantial income any-time soon, at best it'll be very inconsistent, and as far as flate-mates goes." Mycroft shrugged. "I wouldn't hold my breath for any-one to last more than two days, in all honestly, I would love to meet the man whom could be any match for Sherlock in such a capacity, and I would proudly offer him my hand. That would sure be the day."

Mrs. Hudson nodded going through Mycrofts words in her head, nothing he said sounded to promising. "Are you trying to scare me off?." she asked sounding slightly suspicious.

"Oh far from it." Mycroft told holding up a hand. "I'll sincerely hope you'll do all that you can to make Sherlock stay at that place, and I want you to know, if Sherlock ever fails to pay up on time and you find yourself in trouble." he without a second thought drew a check-book from his waist pocket and clicked a pencil to write a couple of numbers. "My brothers future means more to me than any such bagatelles as money." he stated reaching the check towards Mrs. Hudson.

Both Mrs. Hudsons eye-brows flew up by the sight of the big number on the check, but then she cleared her throat and gave the check back. "Mr. Holmes, your brother is not the only one not liking charities." she told. "As kind as the thought is, I don't need it at this time, no thank you sir."

"Just take it." Mycroft offered. "Just to keep an eye on my brother. Tell me ones in a while what is happening and this pay-check could be a monthly deal."

"no thank you." Mrs. Hudson stated ones again. "I don't need it." she stated. "Beside, what Sherlock does is his own business, I don't want to be obligated to tell you a thing.. no offence Mr. Holmes, even if you are his brother."

"And only living relative." Mycroft added still extending the check towards Mrs. Hudson. "I could easily double it, it wouldn't hurt me in the least." he offered.

"Even if you are his only living relative." Mrs. Hudson stated in a annoyed tone pushing Mycrofts hand away. "No, thank you _sir!_" she stated in a stern definite tone.

At last Mycroft retrieved the check as a smile played on his lips. "Very well." he stated, the smile almost reaching his eyes, but only almost, was left to wonder if this man could ever show any warmth. "Thank you for the trouble Mrs. Hudson." he stated as he rose up. "If I am not mistaken, we'll be seeing each other again before long." he greeted opening the door.

"It was my pleasure." Mrs. Hudson replied politely but exhaled relieved as the elder Holmes had exited the room. Some-how, it seemed like her life would revolve around a certain Sherlock Holmes from now on, but to be honest.. now she didn't mind at all, she looked forward to it. And she wouldn't want it any other way, she looked forward to take care of that boy, and take care of him good!

* * *

"Sherlock isn't that hard to figure out." Mrs. Hudson told John as she poured the doctor some tea. "As long as you don't try and pretend in front of him, don't try and convince him of lies and just treat him nice, he'll treat you nice right back." she told wisely.

"He sure gets annoyed when people try and pretend in front of him, he likes it straight forward." John amused shook his head. "He is right though." the ex-soldier smiled at their land-lady. "You are an angel Mrs. Hudson." he told warmly.

Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly back at him and turned around in time for Sherlock to burst into the living room. "What are you sitting there waiting for?" he exclaimed at John. "We are busy! come on!"

"What? come on where?" John asked confused.

"Tower bridge of cause." Sherlock stated as he rolled his eyes, and John had absolutely no idea what the consultive detective were talking about. "Hurry man!" he stated, making John grab his coat and almost jump up. "Oh and Mrs. Hudson, we'll be back at eight."

"Not your landlady dear." Mrs. Hudson replied to Sherlock.

"But John will probably be starving at that time, and you are making to much food for yourself any-way." Sherlock replied.

"Hey, don't drag me into this." John snapped. "I can buy my own food." he stated.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "Just run along boys." she told them. "Sherlock is right, I believe there will be a little some-thing left over when you come back." she blinked just managed to catch Johns smile as he stormed out of the door in the tale of Sherlock.


	6. To be an iceman

Mycroft did his best, he really really did, he did his best not to role his eyes, but it was very hard. "Sherlock, what did you do in there?" he asked ones again.

It wasn't often that Mycroft Holmes visited 221B Bakerstreet, but it was often enough if you asked him. The thing just was the Sherlock did not listen to texts, often didn't even read the texts and wouldn't pick up calls coming from Mycroft, if he did he would be able to hang up the moment he thought Mycroft was being irrelevant. no the only way for Mycroft to have a prober conversation with Sherlock, _at all_, was to meet up in person. He was just happy he only had one brother.

"nothing much." Sherlock replied from where he sat in his own chair with crossed arms.

"Sherlock that was our deal, I let you back into Baskerville re-search centre and you tell me why you thought it was a good idea to even break in there in the first place." Mycroft snapped back.

"It seemed like a very interesting place to be at." Sherlock smirked an almost sadistic smile.

"So far away from London?" Mycroft asked with a lifted eye-brow. "Oh I have no doubt you would have gone much sooner without any real reason had it been central london, but you were quite far away on the country side."

"London ran out of interesting places." Sherlock responded and finally Mycroft couldn't keep back that eye-roll any longer it just happened, he was about to sigh of sheer relief though as the front door opened and from the food-steps, light indicating a smaller male, tall and never dragging indicating a soldier or some-one of discipline it was only to obvious who it was.

"John would you be so kind to tell me _why _my little-brother decided it was a good idea to use _my _I-D card to get into a very secret military and re-search facility in the middle of now-where?" Mycroft asked over his shoulder the moment the door had closed.

"Oh, Hallo Mycroft." Johns head popped in through the door and soon the rest of him followed carrying two heavy looking shopping bags. "Yes sure, or if you wait three days you can read all about on the blog." he offered as he headed for the kitchen.

Sherlock groaned deeply and annoyed. "You are not supposed to tell him that." he hissed through his gritted teethes.

John merely shrugged as he re-appeared. "whops." he told in a very sarcastic tone.

"You are having revenge aren't you?" Sherlock asked in a pout.

"Such things would never cross my mind." John told in a fake tone and a shake of his head. "Why would you ever think that?" he asked sitting down the last available place in the living room, the couch.

Mycroft lifted an eye-brow as he observed John. "I will look forward to that blog entry." he commented making Sherlock very literately scowl in a very annoyed tone.

Sherlock and John, John and Sherlock, what a pair.

Mycroft could honestly say he had not seen it come, Sherlock in his youth had been like a hyperactive squirrels on steroids, no grounding, no focus just uncontrollable energy which could not be stopped and burned out Sherlock far to fast.

Mycroft had seen his little-brother, whom was barely able to sit still for twenty seconds because of all of this raging fire inside of him burn out, burn out far too fast. How could Mycroft not be worried? he had promised to take care of Sherlock and so he would.. He remembered his own astoundment when it had ones happened. One of his many lectures towards Sherlock. "You need focus, you need a plan!" he had told Sherlock.

"I do have a plan!" Sherlock had responded.

"To sleep on the streets of London and scrap by day for day?" Mycroft had asked. "Your intellect, your education, _wasted." _

"No! I'm going to be a detective!"

The times Mycroft Holmes had been astounded could be counted on his two hands, the times where he had just stopped and had to think, and that was one of them. His brother having gone left and right, up and down for so many years, whom had never ever shown any interests in such things a criminology had said that... Detective?

"You what?" Mycroft had to ask.

"A detective." Sherlock had responded pointedly. "People who has a problem hires me and I solve their problem." he explained on as if Mycroft was being the idiot here.

For a minor second Mycroft had just been about to point out how ridicules that plan was but kept back, this was honestly the first time Sherlock had come up with any plan what so ever on his own. Thing just was, Mycroft had a hard time imagine Sherlock would be able to handle what most detective work was, long boring surveillance. "When.. How." Mycroft hesitated trying to find the right words so Sherlock wouldn't just storm out of the door refusing help. "Did you figure that is what you want now?" he asked.

"I helped out with a few murder investigations, nothing big really." Sherlock shrugged.

Mycroft's eye-brows crawled up towards his hair line with that admission.. helped out with a few murder investigations? what did he mean by that? what had he been up to? "Where." ones again Mycroft chose to be as careful as possible with his words. "Would you imagine your clients would come from?" he asked.

"I just need to get started, they'll come." Sherlock promised. "For now I'll just build a name on my own."

"Sherlock that isn't how it works." Mycroft had to point out.

"Well I'll just make it work that way." Sherlock sniffed as he stood up collecting his coat around himself. "And if you'll excuse me I'm late for an appointment." he stated.

"What kind of appointment, you never have appointments." Mycroft asked.

"I do now." Sherlock stated back as he wandered towards the door. "That's what detective do, meets up with clients and people whom has some-thing to do with the case."

"What case?" Mycroft asked but at that same moment the door slammed after Sherlock and Mycroft was left feeling both stupid and humiliated. and yet, as he turned back and towards his living room where he sat down in his chair his hands folded in silent prayer and in his mind Mycroft had begged. please don't let this be a phase! please tell me he finally found a focus and outlet for that energy, _please_ cut me a break in this!

Mycroft probably shouldn't have been that surprised, when Sherlock said he wanted some-thing, he would always end up having it! he indeed all-ready was out solving cases, true Sherlock searched out more of them and there-by didn't get paid for his trouble than any people came to him, but at that point Mycroft was willing to take what he could get.

His brother, finally for all of his life, had a focus, Mycroft was almost ready to laugh in joy when he recieved that phone-call. "Oh dearest brother of mine."

"Sherlock, what owes the pleasure?" Mycroft had asked.

"I erh... need to.. to." Sherlock had hissed as if it was difficult to get the words over his lips. "I need a loan." he had finally snapped. "But it's just a loan, i'll pay you back. It's not charity!"

"A loan?" Mycroft had responded now sounding very intriqued, not even when Sherlock had been on his high with the drugs had he asked Mycroft for money. "For what?"

"Entail." Sherlock responded. "I found a place, but to get it I need to pay the money right away, and I don't have that kind of money right now."

Entail?... did he mean. "Sherlock are you telling me you are going to rent yourself an apartment?" Mycroft asked barely daring to hope.

"Yes." Sherlocks voice responded in an annoyed groan. "At 221B Bakerstreet if you must know." he stated sourly.

"How much do you need?" Mycroft asked without hesitation. "it'll be at your bank-account at ones." trying the best to keep back his grin. Sweet mercy-full heaven! his brother would not need constant watch any-longer! Did this really mean Mycroft could finally get a life on his own?

Of cause it didn't! Sherlocks new profession meant that Sherlock came out in just as many problems as before this time around those problems could have things to do with national security, politics and just things that were much bigger than Sherlocks noising around. Things where it was Mycrofts very job to keep it calm and quiet while Sherlock of cause, found great joy in exposing what-ever dirt he could for the fun of it, and then be on his merry way having gathered one or two new nemesis's wanting him dead.

Yes _f_Sherlock had a focus and a purpose now, no Sherlock did not life on the street and it did not seem like he would ever again. But the amounts of problems around him hadn't lessened they had just moved.

Mycroft clearly remembered the first time Sherlock had gotten himself involved in buisness straight linked to Mycrofts buisness, he remembered outside of the diagnostics club as word has first gotten out.

"Terrible buisness, and such a noisy man, no manners at all." old Lethbridge had stated.

"What did you say his name was again?" Sullivan had asked.

"A rather peculiar name now you ask." Lethbridge responded. "Sherlock I think, yes I know, Sherlock Holmes!"

At ones both men silence as they blinked at each other, then slowly their heads turned and suddenly Mycroft had found himself centre of attention.

He how-ever had tried to keep it cold at firs. "What a coincidence wouldn't you say?" Mycroft asked raising his glass. "Here's to never hear of him again."

And thankfully the two older gentlemen simply saluted back before turning around and contuine with their conversation, Mycroft was ready to wipe his brow in relief over that. He should have know though.. it wouldn't be that easy. Not to long after that Sherlock had found himself in trouble... very big trouble, and Mycroft had to go bail him out. He remembered entering a room, filled with his own colleagues and friends, Sherlock sitting there in the middle.. looking as arrogant as ever, even bored. As Mycroft entered the room every-bodies eyes landed on him, and then all of does eyes widened as people got the connection.

"I should I have known, the family resemblence most differently is there." some-body whispered and Mycroft did his best not to pout before he cleared his throat.

"I see that you have." he licked his lips as he looked for the prober words. "have taken good care of my little-brother, thank you." he got over his lips. "And now.. if you would excuse me, I will accompany my dear brother out." he had ended up taking Sherlock rather roughly by the arm as he tried to get the darker haired sibling out. "Had _fun?" _he asked.

"Plenty." Sherlock smirked back.

"Sherlock you embarrased me!" Mycroft stated. "Have you any idea how important some of does men are? and how often I will have to work with them?"

"You know what they say dear brother, being put down just ones in a while is very heatlhy." Sherlock smiled almost sadisticly back making Mycrofts blood boil, why did it have to be so hard? he did all that he could for Sherlock, he always had, and yet the younger man still had to be such a big brat! an ungrateful brat! Not even wanting to considerate Mycrofts life, he was a busy important man, and he did so much, had done so much, all for Sherlock, was it any wonder that Sherlock was driving Mycroft up the walls?

On occasion Sherlock had to take loans from Mycroft still, Sherlocks plan about flat-mates hadn't exactly gone that well. Mycroft barely raised an eye-brow any-longer when a new flat-mate was announced, and didn't even move a muscle when that same flat-mate walked out in frustration.

What he wouldn't give for a person to keep an eye on Sherlock for him, to ground him. Sherlock still needed to be grounded and very badly before he got seriously hurt.

"Sir, your brother found himself a new flat-mate." Anthea had told him as Mycroft sat at this office.

Mycroft barely shrugged. "again you say." he sighed. "So is it one or two days he'll last?" he joked towards his secretary.

Anthea shrugged. "Maybe a week, this one's history is a bit tougher than most."

Mycroft shrugged as Antheas phone bipped, Anthea frowned by what she saw on the screen now though. "Sherlock has asked the new flat-mate out to the crime-scene."

"He what?" Mycroft asked as he looked up, that was new, that had never happened before.

"And the new flat-mate went with him, they are on their way out there now." Anthea told.

"Sherlock took his new flat-mate out on a crime scene?" Mycroft asked as he raised behind the desk. "Who is this new flat-mate? is he a detective himself? an officer? Maybe a bioligist?" he asked listing through his head whom could possible be interested in visiting a crime scene with his crazy brother.

"No sir." Anthea responded. "An army doctor, just send home from Afghanistan last month, he got shot in action."

"An army doctor." Mycroft echoed. "Get him on the cameras I want to see him." he stated at ones.

And that was how Mycroft for the first time saw John Watson through a tiny monitor from a bad quality towns camera, and his eyes had been steady on that screen. For an ordinary person John Watson didn't look like much, for an ordinary person John looked ordinary, plain, approachable and straight forward.

Mycroft Holmes how-ever, was not an ordinary person, he saw how excited John Watson looked about being there, how the army doctor barely used his cane while being on his way towards the crime scene, how his body languet towards Sherlock was open and intrigued rather than dismissive. And Mycroft saw how, when Sherlock had left the scene and Watson had been left standing there, how that purpose had left the doctor and he ones again leaned heavily on that cane.

like Sherlock, John Watson seemed like a man whom needed a focus, a purpose.. a war zone. "I want to see him in person." Mycroft stated. he needed to get closer to find out exactly what kind of man John Watson was.. was he trust-worthy? So many was only out for their own neck.. would he ground Sherlock or make Sherlock wilder and more predictable than ever?

Mycroft was almost feeling satisfied by witnessing how much in control Watson became within a seconds warning, as the doctor found out he was being watched and had no choice but to follow, he became a man of stealth not breaking as much as a sweat. Mycroft saw a man whom fared in a war-zone and couldn't stand a plain boring life.. for the first time in his life, he saw another version of Sherlock before him. But thank-fully not quite. Not at all, this man was an army doctor, a disciplined grounded individual.

Was Mycroft really allowed to be this lucky? was this finally it? he had a smile on his lips as checked Watsons hand and nodded that the doctor wasn't shaking in the least, he was bristling with content as Watson refused to take any money. Such a rare quality, Mycroft always found that the easiest and most secure way to judge a mans honor codex. It never failed.

And it could not have gone better from that point, even if Mycroft had tried to design a person taking up the part of Sherlocks flate-mate, being the person that finally grounded his brother, even if just a little a bit.

True, the two had an unfortunate habit of ganging up with each other against him, but the mere fact some-one had been able to ground Sherlock, just a little bit, was a miracle. And John Watson was an reasonable man most often willing to be reasonable, thankfully.

"Just one last thing." Mycroft stated towards Sherlock as John observed them with his hand in his laps. "Give it back." Mycroft demanded of Sherlock.

Sherlock just looked blankly at Mycroft. "Pardon?"

Mycroft reached forward a hand as he looked sternly at his brother. "Hand it over Sherlock, _now!" _

Sherlock sighed deeply as his hand dug towards his pocket and from it he fished an ID card. "But it's so practical." he told.

Mycroft didn't even respond but looked sternly as ever at Sherlock with a stretched hand towards him.

"Fine." Sherlock then at last sighed and gave Mycroft back his ID card giving access to all of the most secret facilities around Britten.

"And if you every pull such a stunt again I wont promise you'll get a free pass so easily." Mycroft stated as he raised up and placed the ID card back in his wallet. "Doctor." he bowed his head towards John. "I'll be looking forward to that blog." he stated.

"You'll like it. It's a killer this time." John responded before Mycroft at last leaved the flat, and as he did John eyed Sherlock. "If I know you right, you have another of Mycrofts ID cards." he stated lifting an eye-brow.

"Two." Sherlock responded. "Always be prepared." he stated in a mischievous grin as he reached a hand towards his pocket, only for his eyes to widen, frantically Sherlock started searching his pockets, all of them before he looked up in realisation. Then his eyes fell on the fire-place and he jumped over there to turn over a the persian slipper laying there, the only thing coming out an old piece of paper and nothing else, perplexed Sherlock looked up and John started laughing out loud, holding his stomach as he laughed.

"Serves you well." John laughed as he pointed at the still perplexed looking Sherlock whom now started to genuinly pout in return.


	7. Mr Genius

"Auw.." John let out that single word as he had landed right on the floor, right on his back, laying around him, and even on top of him were a ton of papers, and to top it off the last stash of papers fell down from the bookcase and landed on Johns face, whom spluttered and swiped the papers away from his person as he sat up.

That of cause was when a certain lanky detective stepped into the room, presumable to find out what the fuss was about, for a moment Sherlock just stood there casually in the door-frame, holding a steaming muck of tea as he in his slightly unbuttoned silk short, apparently not planning to go out that day, raising an eye-brow at John. "You are leaving a mess." Sherlock commented.

John send Sherlock a sullen glare from where he sat on the floor. "That's rich, me being behind the mess in this apartment." He snorted as he crossed his arms, it went without saying that Johns things were always without question in finest order, he was not only a doctor, he was also a soldier, and at this point in his life it just went against his very nature to leave a mess behind, much unlike Sherlock. "I was attacked by _your _paper-work!" John snapped. "I were just looking for the electrical bill from last year, I think they have made a miss-calculation, either that or we seriously need to change some of our hard-ware." he stated in a roll of his eyes, Sherlock may not cared the least about money, but John actually wanted to keep being on a reasonable budget so he wouldn't have to steal food from Mrs. Hudson just to survive.

Sherlock shrugged as he simply stepped right over John and all of the paper-work. "Just clean up after yourself." Was his final comment as he stepped into the living room. While John bit together, seriously fighting the urge to wack Sherlock one, right in the face.

Then John sighed as he looked down on all of the paper work, it seemed hopeless, all the papers Sherlock had ever received, dating as far back as to Sherlocks teens, all spread before him, all though.. suddenly John was intrigued. Whom knew what was in here? Perhaps some old photos, school photos? Old essays, whom knew what kind of back-ground information that were hidden away in there? Sherlock never ever told any-thing about his past unless it was directly linked to what happened in the now, so in spite of having been living with the odd man for almost a year, John knew next to nothing about him, one couldn't helped being intrigued in such a situation!

John spread out the papers in front of him and looked it over, glancing at the titles, and was as expected, met with utter inconsistency, without hesitation he took some of the pages, crumbled them together and threw them in the trash can, recites from ten years ago could hardly be that valuable to any-one, they just took up space.

Then suddenly Johns eye caught some-thing, and he looked at that single piece of paper in deep intrigue, he reached for the paper and pulled it out of the others to look at it, then his mouth widened into a grin, and he smiled amused. Oh Sherlock you are going to get it! He thought to himself as he laughed.

Around two hours later, John entered their living room, Sherlock was sitting on the couch with his laptop, furiously typing, probably either working on his web-site or some sort of case.. or he was writing down a new theory.

"Well, you should be happy to know, you papers now are in more order than they have been in years." John told Sherlock. "Or you know to take a guess, in better order than they have ever been!"

"Hm." Sherlock responded not even looking up.

John rolled his eyes. "Not quite done yet, you could help out you know." he pointed out.

"Hmm." Sherlock responded ones again, barely moving any-thing other than his fingers typing away.

John exhaled annoyed. "That way you could ensure nothing of your personal stuff pops up, I found some-thing very interesting."

"Oh?" Sherlock asked, not bothering to look up from his computer.

"I found proof that I am smarter than you!"

That made Sherlock stop, he simply just froze in his mid action of typing, and finally looked up at John looking confused at him.

"Your exam papers." John held up the seemingly innocent piece of paper. "Your final grades from Uni, an average of E?" he asked amused. "who would have guessed?"

"That says nothing about my intelligent!" Sherlock snapped back, suddenly annoyed.

"Educational programs would beg to differ." John stated back amused.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I did not want any educational program, if there were any reason for me to get a higher grade, I would have gotten it, but wasting attention on it would have been pointless at the time." He muttered.

"Now now Sherlock." John replied back. "If every-body used that as an excuse, where would we be today? I didn't know what I wanted back then, I got good grades."

"Well of cause you are the type of person to get above excellent school grades." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You are straight forward and organized, you have no problem to fit into an all-ready decided structure and do what is expected of you regardless of how tedious it would feel to you." He stated in a snort. "For crying out loud, you ended up as a army doctor, your final grades were without a doubt consistent of A's and B+ only." He stated. "You were that boring type back in school always ready with your home-work, doing what you were told to. You are a dream to society John."

John shrugged. "I don't know, I had my share of trouble to. Still, if you have such a big brain as your claim, it should have been a hoot for you to get the grades regardless!"

"No, because I don't like to do what I am told." Sherlock stated back.

"Oh well, there's a surprise." John told sarcastically.

"Grades tells nothing about any-ones intelligence." Sherlock snorted. "It just tells you about whom is better fitted into the same old boring system, just doing to same old boring thing, fitting into the same old boring way of doing the same old boring stuff!" He told. "Those places never has any room for people with a single new thought in their heads, good riddance I was through with that a long time ago." He grumbled and collected his legs in his arms, while starring at his laptop on the couch table, as were he an annoyed angry child, and John had been poking around in some-thing very personal. Which maybe he had.

John sighed deeply, feeling just a little guilty about upsetting Sherlock over some-thing that meaningles. "Well clearly you found your own way, without grades." He at last stated sincerely.

"Wasn't easy!" Sherlock made aware. "Society favors the straight-forward, shuns the geniuses, well until they get some kind of break-through, _then_ they'll be worshipped as some kind of heroes." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Society is just pretentious like that if you ask me."

"Truly you are the modern day Einstein." John stated amused, only to receive an odd look from Sherlock. "Oh you know, Albert Einstein." John elaborated. "He flunked math in school and were denied access to university, only for people later to realize he was one of the greatest math genius's whom had ever existed, he just saw things very differently than other people at the time, but as it turned out, he was right."

"Glad you can see it!" Sherlock then snapped and finally returned to his computer. "Now if you would excuse me, I'm _busy_." He told in a very dismissive tone.

"I bet Albert Einstein were a lot nice though." John stated in a roll of his eyes. "And a lot less messy!"

"No, Albert Einstein was infamous for how disorganized he was." Sherlock told without looking up from the computer. "He is the one who ones used a million dollar check as a book-marker, and then lost the book."

"Your sure, you aren't related?" John asked.

"Don't you have cleaning to do?" Sherlock retorted back.

"All-right, all-right mr genius." John replied with his hands raised in defeat. "Just please note, it's actually _your_ mess I am bringing order to."

"Indeed, you bring order into my chaotic existence." Sherlock stated his voice thick with sarcasm.

"Glad to be appreciated." Was Johns last words before he disappeared back, to ones again, bring a bit of order into their messy little apartment.


	8. Have no fear

October had reached England.. late October. And so had the American holiday which so many brits gladly had taken to them recently. Especially in London which among so many other things was a big tourist trap and of cause tried to cash in on every holiday it could.

And thus pumpkins were standing on every street corner, ghosts were hanging in windows, witches and mummies were standing every-where terrorising passerby's whom often ended up screaming in delight.

John and Sherlock had just finished their cast late at night, at Piccadilly circus, and were now faced with all these spokes and ghost in their prime.

And truthfully.. both were equally un-impressed. It took a lot more to scare the seasoned war veteran, and the detective.. well.. he could only snort of the illogic of the actions unfolding in front of him. Even as a ghost lightning up in the dark came floating towards Sherlock did the detective merely snort. "Oh please." He rolled his eyes. "it's just a sheet covered in phosphor tied on a string, attached to that." He pointed upwards to a large ledge, where true enough, the ghost were connected, and now it floated on, scaring a girl whom screamed in shock, making Sherlock roll his eyes.

John shrugged. "Let the kids be kids." He stated as he lazily looked at a pamphlet that had been handed to him.

"OH COME ON!" Sherlock shouted annoyed at a couple of kids hiding behind a bush. "That's just a guy in white face-pant with re contacts! Shess." He stated.

"What I meant to say is, don't ruin other peoples fun, and just go with it." John corrected himself still reading the phamflet.

"how are you supposed to have fun when there's no logic or even common sense here?" Sherlock asked. "First of, why would any-one willingly scare themselves, and secondly, how would they even archive that effect with.. with these silly plastic things?" he asked frustrated. "There's no sense a reason here!"

"They are just kids playing around." John calmly tried to explain. "Maybe this would more be your taste?" he asked holding up the pamphlet where Sherlock could see it.

Sherlock squinted his eyes as it as he read out loud. "Exploit your greatest fear, and experience the terror." Then he looked at John as if John had turned idiot. "That there will undoubtly just be more plastic and chemical effects, nothing to be scared off, there'll always be a logical explaining, there-fore, fear itself is only for the simple minded." He told sharply.

"Fear for the simple minded?" John asked with a lifted eye-brow. "Oh thanks Sherlock." He snorted.

"Don't tell me you are scared by all of this John." Sherlock retarded back.

"No of cause not." John rolled his eyes. "But fear is not a foreign concept to me." He made aware in a slightly scolding tone. "For heaven sake, just sharing apartment with you is enough to make most people run screaming away, but that is nothing compared to.. "John halted, but then rolled his eyes. "So don't tell me that fear is irrelevant and that you have never really felt it."

"Why should I tell you some-thing that simply wouldn't be the truth?" Sherlock asked in a snort.

"Really, so you have never experienced fear ever?" John asked.

"Fear has no logic, because there is always a simple explanation for what you see." Sherlock stated to John. "You just have to look for it."

"Sherlock.." John tried, finding the right words. "Some-times.. fear can be more than that." He tried to explain. "Some-times, fear to, will be about what is right in front of you, but you can't escape from it, you follow me?" he asked.

"Not really." Sherlock told in a slight bored shrug.

John rolled his eyes, haven given up at that point. "Well, I guess you should count yourself lucky never having to bother with true terror then." He muttered. "I'm sure lots of people would love to share your _gift._" He mumbled a little sarcastic.

* * *

Unbeknown to John though.. his words actually stuck with Sherlock in the evening, as the detective went to bed, he was turning under his covers, and as he tried to close his eyes, a face appeared in front of him. A face wavering slightly from side to side as a slithering snake as the man grinned.. "Sherlock.. " he almost chuckled in a slightly irish accent.

"Moriarty.." Sherlock responded, to the man standing right in front of him.. Sherlock took a step back, but suddenly stumbled, he looked down and gasped in shock, he had almost fallen down from a unfathomable tall height.. he stood on a rocky hill and under him.. there was simply nothingness, spreading out for-ever and ever.. so close had he being to falling.

"Oh dear Sherlock." Moriarty addressed him in a fake caring tone. "Did I startle you? Did you almost fall?" he asked.

"Where's John?" Sherlock suddenly snapped.

"Who?" Moriarty asked.

"for gods sake, John." Sherlock hissed. "Or Lestrade or Mrs. Hudson?" he asked. "Or.. Molly.." he asked, trying to suppress the urge to step backwards and into nothingness.

Moriarty took one step ford, a very long smooth step as he got closer to Sherlock, smiling that sadistic smile as his, as there were no regret in his eyes, no fear. "Not here." Was his simple answer. "You are mine now Sherlock."

And Sherlock gasped.. it was as he had feared, Moriarty had trapped him in his giant spider-web, forced Sherlock out in a corner where he could not run and could not hide. There was nothing to do for Sherlock at all.. he, whom had always been the one in control, always a step ahead, was now in this situation, trapped and powerless. The one person on this earth, able to corner him like that.. as he had ones before, gloating and laughing in his own triumph.

Yet worst of all.. this time, Sherlock was all alone. And no one would come to help him.

"It's almost to easy isn't it?" Moriarty asked stepping even closer. "Laughable easy in fact." He stated standing mere inches away from Sherlock. "All I would have to do now." A hand played over Sherlocks chest as Moriartys eyes met Sherlocks. "Is to give.. _one single push!" _and suddenly the hand pushed Sherlock so Sherlock fell back-wards, towards the darkness.. but only barely as Moriartys hand grabbed his shirt, holding Sherlock in place over the edge. "Isn't it delightful Sherlock?" Moriarty asked him. "I am god in our world now, _I_ decide whether you life or die!" he laughed as he tightened his grip in Sherlocks shirt. "I decide whether John lifes or die.. I decide every-thing!" he teased.

"Just.." Sherlock panted trying not to sound to scared. "Get over with it!" he hissed.

"But I am having fun." Moriarty complained in a pout. "I took you and turned you into an ant Sherlock." He made aware. "You are my ant now, he does it feel?" he asked shaking Sherlock lightly. "Maybe I really am god.." Moriarty wondered lightly. "I mean, I just took you Sherlock, and made you into an ant? Isn't it amazing?" he asked.

Sherlock wasn't amazed at all, he was terrified.. not being able to control what had would happen next.. had to be the most terrifying thing of all.. not knowing where John was, or Lestrade.. he was shaking in fright… so many things his mind could not explain to him, so many things he could not figure.. there was no logic he could find.. no logic at all.. and Sherlock was frightened.

"Man, this is becoming dull." Moriarty yawned. "This was dumb at me, taking my only real adversary and turn him into an ant, who came up with that idea?" he asked in a roll with his eyes. "I got so many ants! Coming running to me, please god, help me with my problem. I hate ants!" he hissed. "Well, Sherlock, I suppose only one thing left to do." Slowly his fingers started to let loose of Sherlocks shirt.

"Wait.. no." Sherlock reached out for Moriarty. "You can't let me fall! I can't see what is down there!"

Moriarty shook his head, looking slightly amused. "You've all-ready fallen Sherlock." He told and then let go, so Sherlock fell backwards, down into the darkness where there was nothing.. nothing at all.

Sherlock sat up straight in bed, and took in a deep breath. A nightmare.. it was merely a nightmare, brought on by poor ghost stories, it was all very logical.. Every-thing could be explained by the end. Every-thing had a logical source.. even his nightmares.

* * *

The next day, John and Sherlock was on with their case, visiting the sankt barts hospital and Molly, whom was busy at work on her own.

Perhaps it was just John, but decorating a place that all-ready were all-about corpses and body parts seemed just a tiny bit unnecessary to him. Perhaps it was what one would call true gallows humour.. to have put a robe around the neck of the skeleton standing in the corner, having tied up three ghosts inside of the morgue, and have a large figure of Frankensteins monster standing in the corner, holding a severed bloody hand.

"It's enough to spook you isn't it?" Molly asked John and Sherlock as John looked wide-eyed at that Frankensteins monster.

Sherlock merely shrugged. "There's any-thing different in here?" he asked not even looking up from his stethoscope.

John rolled his eyes. "Apparently Sherlock doesn't even feel fear." He told Molly in a sarcastic voice.

"Oh, but every-one feels just a little fear ones in a while don't they?" Molly asked. "I mean, just look at me.. I'm spooked all the time these days."

"That really does not surprise, does it?" Sherlocks voice sounded from where he sat with his experiment.

John exhaled. "Well you should know, oh fear-less one." He rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry Molly." He offered.

"Oh.. I should be used to it by now shouldn't it?" Molly asked as she slightly bit her lip.

"That's no reason to excuse Sherlock." John pointed out.

"Beside he is right, I do spook quite easily no matter what time of the year it is." She laughed nervously. "I'm a scarridy cat."

"Miss Hooper, no one wants to hear of your observations, kindly to shut up." Sherlock snapped from where he sat making both Molly and John straighten up.

"Is he okay today?" Molly asked John in a slight whisper.

"He is fine, he was just up all night again.. as usual." John told in a slight role of his eyes.

"You know." Molly eyed Sherlock, but averted her eyes nervously. "I don't think there's any-thing wrong with being scared." She instead addressed John. "Every-one gets scared from time to time. I think it's far worse just to not admit you are scared." She laughed nervously. "If you know what I mean?" she asked at last looking at Sherlock.

"I don't have a single clue!" Sherlock hissed annoyed. "Now please, _leave me alone!"_ he snapped.

"Sherlock!" John scolded in a surprised and offended tone.

But Molly gently put a hand on Johns shoulder as she shook her head. "I'll leave." She assured. "Sherlock, I was just trying to say, when you are afraid of some-thing you just have to admit, because first when you admit that you are afraid, can you look beyond the fear and find a the way around it." She told. "That's only logic isn't it?" she asked and turned around towards the door. "Every-one gets scared." Was her last words as she disappeared through the door that closed behind her.

Sherlock didn't respond at all, but just sat hunched over his work.

"That there will call for an apologies later." John told with crossed arms.

"Hmm." Sherlock responded without looking up.

"Fine, what-ever." John hissed. "I'm going to go out for a cup of coffee, you want any-thing?" he asked.

Sherlock didn't answer, just turned the stethoscope wheel one turn.

"Okay fine." John at last stated, and disappeared the same way Molly had.

Sherlock how-ever was in deep thought.. admit to the fear so you can look beyond it and find a way around it?

That probably would be good advice.. to people whom got scared, which wasn't him. But perhaps maybe.. Sherlock could not deny that he had just been waiting lately, waiting for Moriarty to turn up again, he knew for a fact it was only a matter of time, and he would have to be ready, ready just to face….


	9. The Doctors bad day

_AN; okay.. this is jumping a lot.. but well, it's just me trying to induce a bit of fun. You know what the worst thing about "The Reichenbach fall" Is? it's so freakingly heartbreakingly sad! so well, I am just dealing with the after-math, with humour, because I feel like I need to be humourus about it. AND GOD DAMMIT! can't believe we have to wait another whole god damn year before John can be happy again, why did you have to go to new zealand Martin Freeman? Why? _

* * *

John may seemed like a plain and boring man.. the kind of man whom easily would startle.

With his comfy sweaters and nice shirts, strangers passing him on the streets could quite easily assume him as some-one easy to dupe.. fools.

Any-one whom knew John just a tiny little bit would know better, that John was a man whom had all-ready faced extreme pressure, in more than one way, whom had been near terror, whom had seen death in all its possible forms, whom had been in the middle of several war zones and had survived, which was a thing that would only ever make a person stronger, cleverer, harder to trick.. John, was not a person whom got startled, shocked or behaved like most other people in strange situations. He was a person whom would now be calm and logical about it.

Of cause though, as one should know, what it took for John to react as a little woman, would be one tall lanky _detective._

It was sure to be a day neither would ever forget.. it had been two years ago.. two years since, that fall, that horrible day, where John had seen his best friend falling down from a building, then lay pall and covered in his own blood on the ground.

It had shattered John ones more.. Shattered his new world he had managed to build on the ruins of his old miss-used life, and now even that was in ruins and shattered.

But John wasn't a soldier for nothing, he had carried on with his life, gone on, and he had survived. Of cause though, as it would happen, the precise moment he had order back into his life, was of cause the moment every-thing would shatter again.

Oh it would be a day neither of them would forget any-time soon..

It had started simply enough, John was on work, at his day clinic, checking up on people, he had just finished checking up on a young girl whom happened to have sore throat, and ended up her a recite for penicillin.. that girl was supposed to be the last one before his break, all though then his intercom had bipped and the secretary called. "Doctor John Watson?"

"Yes." John had responded.

"There's a man to see you."

"I'm having my break, either send him to Anna, or tell him to wait half an hour." John responded back.

"He says it must be you and that it's urgent." Was the response.

"Do I know him?" John at last asked.

"He says that you do." The secretary answer.

"Who is it then?" John asked, starting to get just slightly annoyed.

"I'll ask I.. hey no, wait sir! You can't!" John heard the secretaries voice yelling, apparently to some-one else ad her intercom. "Didn't you hear me, I said you can't.."

Just that moment the door was opened wide, and in the opening stood a young man wearing a dark blue hoodie, the hood covering his hair, sun-glasses covering his eyes and well.. he resembled a bank-robber a bit to much.

John lifted an eye-brow. "May I help you?" he asked a little coldly.

"If you wouldn't mind." The man answered closing the door behind him.

John rolled his eyes. "What then, may I ask, can I help you with?" he asked a little impatiently. "You broke into my office, so it better be important." He murmured sourly crossing his arms.

The young man smirked lightly. "Always so straight to the point, right straight forward, no diddleing around, that's what I like so much about you John." The man told in a smirk and removed his sun-glasses as he let down his hood. "God, I've actually missed you." A man whom was not nearly as young as John had first assumed, whom had black curly locks, height cheek bones and icy blue eyes, smiled at him, talking in that deep baritone voice of his.

John was a person whom didn't startle, didn't get shocked, and certainly he had never, ever, ever fainted.. before now. His mind unable to comprehend what it saw, very simply just blacked out as John fell to the ground, out cold.

* * *

John was woken by slaps on his cheeks, shocked John opened his eyes and blinked facing the fare-end wall, then got sickly aware some-one stood bowed over him in front of him.. slowly.. ever so slowly did John dare to turn his head, and was faced with what he had deep down feared, the ghost of Sherlock! John let out a roar in shock, making the ghost jump back also looking startled.

"Sorry." That man which both looked and sounded like Sherlock spoke. "I didn't know you would be _that_ distressed." He told standing up straight.. so he was now almost towering over John.

"It happened." John stated clasping a hand toward his face. "I finally lost it." He stated.

"I wouldn't say that." Sherlock commented. "All though why you would marry that florist I just don't know, she's as dull as the teacher!"

"_Sherlock!" _John scolded in a very familiar stern tone and then clasped his hands towards his mouth, as to try and stop himself. "No." he stated. "No no no no, you can't be here!"

"Why?" Sherlock asked as if it was a perfectly valid question.

"_Because." _John hissed. "You're dead Sherlock! For _Two _years!"

Sherlock shrugged. "Being dead was dull, so I decided to come back"

"Why is it I am even very close to buy that?" John asked holding a hand over his eyes. "No, sorry Sherlock, you just can't.. can't.. I'm just dreaming. Yeas dreaming! That makes perfect sense!"

"John, really?" Sherlock hissed annoyed throwing down his arms. "You are behaving like a bloody woman!"

"_Of cause I am acting like a woman!" _John yelled back. "Because either ghosts are real, or the zombie apocalypse have started, or I've gone mentally insane!" he yelled grabbing his hair. "I'm hoping for the last two, because I do _not _ want to be haunted by you for all eternity!" John exclaimed pointing a shaking finger at Sherlock.

"You wound me." Sherlock snorted, then suddenly eyed Johns water glass on the desk, slowly he picked up, glanced shortly at the content, then glanced at John whom seemed to have gone into a fringe, trying to figure the situation out, and then Sherlock spilled the water content over John.

John spluttered in shock trying to wipe the water of his face. "WHAT WAS THAT FOR!" He yelled, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged. "Trying to make you see reason, you see, there are certain sensations you cannot conquer up inside of your mind, such as the one as being wet, thus this cannot be a dream nor can it be some-thing conquered up by a mentally sick mind. Think rationally John." He explained in a very tired tone. "You're better than this, as far as I have figured, ghosts in most lores cannot lift animated objects, thus me holding this cup should be impossible, that of cause leaves the zombie aspect, but really John?" he asked in a slightly lifted eye-brow.

"Okay, okay.. think rationally." John gritted rubbing his temples. "Assuming I have not gone insane, Sherlock Holmes is standing in my office."

"That would be a logical deduction." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Which means, that he is alive.. that he some-how cheated death." John continued.

"Very good, you are almost there." Sherlock smirked.

"Which means, that he has been alive, for these two last years." John stated with squinted eyes.

"Brilliant deduction John." Sherlock stated in a lighter sarcastic tone, to finally look at John again.. only when he did. John was looking back at him, with eyes that.. did not look all that pleased to see him.

"Logically, Sherlock Holmes has been alive and well, for these two past years." John repeated in a surprisingly calm voice. "Two whole years.." he barely whispered squinting his eyes.

Suddenly, out of no-where, Sherlock had an urging to step back. "Surprise?" he tried in a slight smile.

* * *

"SHERLOCK YOU BASTARD! COME BACK HERE!"

It was a bit of a blur how they had ended up there, but some-how the two were out on a street.. a tight traffic aired street. Sherlock was skill-fully dodging people, even jumping over cars trying to cross the street and loose his follower.. how-ever, for some odd reason it wasn't enough, John was still on his tail.

Logically it didn't make any sense! John were approximately a good twenty centimetres short than Sherlock, there-fore Sherlock should be able to out-run him! Not only that, Sherlock was in top form, John had never been in a bad shape, but Sherlock's shape had always been better than his.. and John having apparently slacked off these years by getting.. boring desk jobs, this just wasn't logical, yet that did not stop the Doctor from also jumping over a car to get to Sherlock, whom now rounded a corner to get into Hyde Park with a freer terrain, surely on a long distance run his own advantages would be more obvious.

"YOU BLOODY COWARD!" John yelled after Sherlock.

"I'VE NOT CHEATED DEATH JUST TO BE KILLED BY MY BEST FRIEND!" Sherlock yelled back.

"_IT WOULD SERVE YOU RIGHT!" _ Was Johns answer. "You must excuse me Sherlock, but I am having A REALLY BAD DAY!"

"Aren't you supposed to have a bed leg?" Sherlock asked back over his shoulder.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead?" Was Johns prompt answer.

"Touché." Sherlock admitted as he rounded another corner, behind a toilet building and gasped for breath, apparently he himself was out of shape he was.. dared Sherlock saying it? Not as young as he used to be. But at least he had lost John, there was no way the soldier had seen him getting into hiding here.. well, that hadn't gone as well as Sherlock had hoped, maybe he should have been more.. what was the word again? Ah, delicate.. njah, delicacy was a dumb concept, it meant having to stretch things out endlessly, Sherlock did not like that.. all though surprised, suddenly Sherlock felt a slight poke on his shoulder, warily Sherlock turned his head and was suddenly rewarded with a fist right in his face sending him directly to the ground.

"And do _not _tell me you didn't deserve that." John stated as he stood above Sherlock, crackling his fist.

Wide-eyed Sherlock looked up at John holding a hand to his check which all-ready looked burning red. "How did you.." he tried asking.

"I was a field soldier I know how to sneak up on people." John told in a slight snort. "And you've better starting explaining now Sherlock." He stated. "I am also quite well-wandered in how to _kill _people."

Sherlock blinked a couple of times, but then exhaled. "You must have burned just a little out by now."

"I've been collecting." John answered back.

Sherlock shook his head. "When have I ever done some-thing without reason?" he asked John. "Yes John, I'm alive.. and I've kept that information from you. But do you really believe I would do that for no reason?" he asked.

"I don't know Sherlock, would you?" John asked sounding bitter.

Sherlock exhaled. "I never do any-thing without a reason." He told looking a bit empty out in the air. "Believe it or not, I'm genuinely sorry for having hurt you John." He told a little sadly. "I was cornered, I had no choice.. Moriarty he had cornered me. And I only barely made my escape, without any-one else getting.. you know, hurt."

"Oh stop it, you barely even sound like Sherlock now." John shook his head. "And I've actually missed the bastard, so at least give me some-thing to work with here." Before he at last reached down a hand towards Sherlock. "Get off the ground, mind illusion or ghost or Sherlock or what-ever you are."

Amused Sherlock shook his head and then reached up, to grab Johns hand, and let the army soldier pull him back up on his legs. "I'm quite sure a ghost wouldn't have been able to feel that fist." Sherlock grunted lightly touching his burning cheek.

"I have bad days." John slightly shrugged.

Sherlock looked at him with a slightly lifted eye-brow.. for some moments there was silence, and then all of a suddenly, at the exact same time they both started smiling, then their smiles evolved into laughter, genuine from the middle region laughter.

"This is ridicules!" John laughed. "It's the most ridicules thing that has ever happened!"

"More so than Buckingham palace?" Sherlock asked.

"Way more!, what am I even doing?" John asked himself in a slight role of his eyes. "Sherlock I am still furious at you!" John informed in his laughter but at last managed to wipe it to off to a mere chukle as he looked at Sherlock. "For the record, I still have no clue what is going on, I am still mad at you, and I am still in doubt whether I am just making this up in my mind." He took a deep breath as he looked at Sherlock. "But I want to hear your explanation and I.." he shook his head. "Well I'm glad you are not dead."

"Really?" Sherlock asked. "Could have fooled me." He stated pulling his hood back up.

"You are buying me lunch by the way." John made aware. "And you are going to tell me every-thing that happened, every single little detail. I still don't understand any-thing.. I mean.. how?" he tried to ask.

"I hope you are hungry." Sherlock at last informed.

"Why?" John asked.

"Because it's going to take a really big lunch to get over all the details." Sherlock stated.


	10. The Doctors bad day part 2

_So a part II to the Sherlock-Watson reunion, because I don't want John to be sad for longer than neccesary, and these are two lovely boys I love writing for!_

* * *

"Do you think you have it now?" Sherlock asked as the two sat over a now empty dinner table, they had been there for two hours.. or more.. it was hard to tell. John had long since called sick to work so he could keep an eye on Sherlock, and just try and grasp what happened as he listened and questioned.

"No." John responded honestly.

Annoyed Sherlock hissed. "What does it take to explain it to you?" he asked. "It's all very simple!"

"_No it is most certainly not!" _John returned which actually did make Sherlock quiet. "I'm trying to be all logical about this and go about it in a calm way, trying to assure me this is not some kind of mind illusion, but even then I have a difficult time understanding." John squinted his eyes as he frowned. "You had to stage your own death."

"Because if I left that roof-top alive Moriarty had ordered men to kill you, Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock patiently repeated for the time number hundred. "I thought that maybe, I could force Moriarty to call back his men, I thought I had the means to do it.. the staging was only the last solution.. but then Moriarty killed himself, and a dead Moriarty couldn't possible call back any of the men.. he beat me John."

"I think I got all of that." John frowned annoyed still with closed eyes. "But what I don't understand is why.. Why did you take the jump?" he asked. "Why let yourself be beaten, that's not the Sherlock that I-" John opened his eyes and were suddenly faced with Sherlock right in front of him.

Sherlock whom now wore a very painful expressions, as if it really shouldn't need any saying.. and that it even hurt him that it did.

"Sherlock my god.." John barely whispered. "And this was supposed to be such a good thing.. a miracle even."

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"It's just.." John breathed.. one of the first thing Lestrade had ever said to John, oh he remembered it so clearly, that first day as he first sat eyes on Bakerstreet, on Lestrade, on Sherlock.. on every-thing, and Lestrade had said.

"Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and maybe one day.. with a lot of luck, he'll be a good one to."

"Nothing." John then at last exhaled.

"I'm as surprised as you are!" Sherlock then exclaimed. "Never in all of my calculations had it ever occurred to me that.. _that _was the price I couldn't pay."

"Calculations don't work in that kind of situations." John shook his head. "Maybe this is a whole new world for you Sherlock.." he a little sadly looked in his cup of tea. "God this is so confusing." He held a hand towards his forehead.. he had wanted Sherlock to change and learn.. to grow up.. he had.. he wanted Sherlock to come back to life.. he had.. now he just wanted every-thing to go back so he could figure these things out.

"John I.." Sherlock hesitated and John looked up. "I really don't know how to do these things." Sherlock at last stated in a very defeated shrug and a frown.

"Just say what you actually have on your mind and what you want from me." John suggested. "You used to be so good at that."

"What I want from you?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, you wouldn't have contacted me if it wasn't because you had some use for me, would you?" John asked. "do you need help to re-surface to society, what?" he asked. "I'll help you with this one, but then I will have to think things over."

"I had hoped for your help." Sherlock admitted. "But that is not.. John I want to make sure that we can still be friends!" he suddenly snapped making John blink surprised. "You asked me to just say what is on my mind!" Sherlock grumbled in a very defending tone as he crossed his arms. "Right now, what I want more than any-thing else, is not an assistant, it's a friend, and I have none other than you!" he stated sourly as if each admission was hard to over-come. "I didn't like being alone out there." He admitted shamefully a blush building up in his cheeks. "And all I honestly want now, is just to end this bloody dumb thing so I can get back to my life, and I want us still to be friends."

John looked surprised at Sherlock.. he felt surprised, so very surprised over all these admissions.. and that they felt so genuine, not manipulative, not like Sherlock wanted to gain any-thing, beside John had all-ready told he was going to help no matter what. "There's no getting away from you ones you've been captured is there?" John asked.

"Njah, people comes and leaves." Sherlock shrugged. "I've never tried to stop any-one from leaving before. I never even forced you in.. You came all by yourself."

"I hate sitting here being all sentimental!" John suddenly retorted.

"Words were never your thing." Sherlock smirked.

"And feelings were never yours!" John retorted. "So here's my suggestion, you tell me what I can do to help you in this case, we solve this case and bring you back into society, then after that you will at random times call my number and knock on my door, exclaiming we need to go to some kind of case, I retort with some very annoyed comments, yet you manages to pull me out, we end up wet, beaten up and cold, you show off, I puncture your balloon and we go home, until the next time you pull me out on a case, is that a deal?" he asked.

Sherlock smirked amused. "That sounds to me like a good deal." He stated as he stood up from the table. "No chance you would move back into Bakerstreet then?" he asked.

"Hell no!" John retorted as he also stood up. "I've know of that place, they say it has the worst tenant and roommate ever living in that space!"

"But the rent is cheap for central London." Sherlock remarked.

"It's not cheap for violin music at four in the night." John grumbled as he pulled his jacket over his arms.

"You still have the key?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah."

"So I can expect a lot of box's in say a week?" Sherlock asked in a smirk.

"Oh screw you Sherlock!" John hissed annoyed as he walked straight pass the lanky detective towards the exit. "Beside half my stuff never made it out of that apartment any-way, it's still there."


End file.
